You Be You and I'll Be Me
by MaverickLover2
Summary: When Bret and Bart Maverick decide to be Delacroix and Hancock to help Molly Hooper, they may have bitten off more than they can chew. Arabian horses, a cattle consortium and a crooked marshal are all in the mix.
1. Hancock and Delacroix

You be You and I'll be Me

Prologue – Hancock and Delacroix

"Hancock?"

He should have been used to the sound of the name by this time. The girl had been calling him that for weeks, but he still had to remind himself to respond when he heard it. "What now?"

"Do you think he can get it?"

"I don't know, Molly. Maybe, maybe not. We'll just have to wait and see when he gets back."

"How long have you known Delacroix?"

It took no time to answer that question. "All my life."

"Really? All your life?"

"Yeah. He was already there when I was born."

She had to give that a moment's thought. "That's a long time."

"Not as long as you might think." He pulled the spyglass open and watched the road from town. Still no sign of his brother. What was causing the delay?

"Hancock?"

"Hmmm?"

"Does he have a girl?"

"A what?"

"A girl. You know, a wife, a fiancé, a girlfriend, anybody?" The tone of her voice was casual, but the look in her eyes was pleading. _'Please let the answer be no.'_

"Nope. At least he didn't when we got here." That was true. He didn't have just one. He had several, none of them of any great consequence; at least not the way Molly meant it. He wondered if that's what she wanted to be. His girl. He wouldn't be surprised if she did. There was only one problem. Molly was a little too . . . moral? The kind of girl you married and took home to Mother. If you had a mother to take her home to. She was the reason they were right here, right now, and even if he could have changed it, he wouldn't. That's the problem with being attracted to somebody else's girl. Even when the somebody else was your brother.

See, even he was thinking of Molly as his brother's girl. Why? There'd been no commitment made, one way or the other. No kissing in the moonlight, no hand-holding, no stolen glances. None of that had happened as far as he knew. It was just . . . the way his brother looked at her, when he thought no one was watching. The way he said her name. That he was crazy enough to ride all that way, just to get what they needed . . .

He pulled the spyglass open again. This time he saw something, far away at the base of the Sierra Estrella Mountains. Even with the spyglass he had to watch the object move until it got close enough to see clearly. It was the man he'd been waiting for, the one they were counting on to get it and bring it back. That didn't answer anything, of course, just that he was on the way back. And even if he got it, were they going to be able to make it work?

He hoped so. For everybody's sake, but mostly their own. Because if this didn't work, it was all going to be over before it really had a chance to get started. They could end up looking down the barrel of a Colt Peacemaker or, even worse, the end of a hangman's noose.

And to think it had all started so innocently . . .

1


	2. Fresh Coffee

You be You and I'll be Me

Chapter 1 – Fresh Coffee

They were sitting in a cantina in the rebuilt city of Yuma, Arizona, having just finished eating supper. Even though neither of them drank anything stronger than a glass or two of wine, cantinas were still the best place to eat dinner, especially if your funds were running low. You just never knew what might happen in the life of a professional poker player. Of course, most people called them gamblers, and some even looked down their noses at the brothers, but they'd been called far worse in their lifetimes. And probably would be again before it was all over.

Bret was about to light a cigar when the herd came screaming down the street, a frantic rush of mustangs driven by three or four wild-eyed cowboys. He paused in mid-light and almost burned himself on the match. "What the hell?"

When the Señorita brought their bill, Bart asked her, "¿Cuál es la estampida acerca?"

"They are running off all of Molly Hooper's breeding stock, Señor."

"Oh, sorry. Breeding stock? Mustangs?"

"Si, Señor. She is trying to do something with the horses that I do not understand. There she goes now. You should talk to her, she will explain." The Señorita pointed to a girl in her mid-twenties, wearing a riding skirt and long blonde hair that streamed out behind her, frantically chasing the herd and the cowboys. She rode a horse that looked like a mustang cross-bred with something else, but Bart couldn't quite tell what. All the gambler knew for sure was that the roan stallion could run like somebody'd lit his tail on fire. Some small distance behind her rode four very young looking Mexican vaqueros, trying desperately to keep up with her. It was a battle they were losing.

"Does that happen often?" Bret asked next.

"No, Señor, only when Señorita Hooper gathers up another herd of mares for breeding."

The brothers looked at each other. Bret put the unlit cigar back in his jacket pocket and reached for his wallet. Bart didn't make a sound. Anytime his brother was distracted enough that he was going to pay for a meal was a good thing. "Do we have to be anywhere in a hurry?" the man doing the paying asked.

"Not that I know of," his younger brother answered.

Bret Maverick nodded and handed the money to the Señorita, who smiled and said, "Gracias."

"Good. Let's go see just why Miss Hooper seems to be havin' so much trouble hangin' on to her mares."

Bart nodded and stood, having seen that look in his brother's eyes too many times before. When Bret was curious enough about something he tended to forget what his original objective was. In this case the only thing propelling them forward had been supper, and once that was accomplished Bart was willing to indulge his brother's interest.

"Where does Señorita Hooper live?"

"She has a ranch just a few miles out of town, back the way she came from. If you wait and she catches the herd, she'll bring them right back through here," the camarera replied.

"Gracias, Señorita," and Bart tipped his hat. The pretty Mexican girl smiled back at him.

The brothers Maverick stood in front of the cantina and waited. About five minutes later, just as the Señorita had predicted, the mares trotted back through town at a much slower pace, with the vaqueros herding them and Molly Hooper following behind.

"That stallion's got Arabian in him," Bart observed as the girl and the horse trotted past them.

"Why do you know that?" his brother Bret asked.

"Remember the summer I spent workin' for old man Willis? The year before the army got us?"

"Yeah, sorta," Bret answered.

"He had an Arabian. Paid a lotta money for that horse. Wanted to breed him, but when money got tight he finally had to sell him. I spent three months muckin' out that stall every day." He paused and the two of them watched the backside of Molly Hooper and her horse disappear. "Wonder what she's tryin' to do?"

"Maybe we should go find out," Bret suggested.

"Maybe we should."

It wasn't difficult to find Molly Hooper. All they had to do was follow the dust trail that the herd kicked up, and before they knew it, they had arrived. The mares were back in the corral; the vaqueros had disappeared. Molly was watching the horses through the fence, and when the brothers rode up she turned to her stallion and pulled a rifle from the scabbard. "Who are you and what do you want?"

"Did somebody deliberately run your herd off?" Bret asked the question before Bart had a chance to.

She aimed the rifle right at Bret's chest. "That didn't answer my questions. One more time. Who are you and what do you want?"

"Yes, ma'am. My name's Delacroix. This is my . . . friend, Hancock. We saw the stampede through town and were just wonderin' why somebody would run your mares off."

"You really asking me that question?"

Bret nodded. "Yes, ma'am, in all seriousness."

"Not from around here, are you?"

Bart finally said something. "No, ma'am, Texas."

"What're you doing here?"

"No offense, ma'am, but you still haven't answered my . . . uh, Delacroix's question."

She lowered the rifle slowly, still not completely over her suspicions. "What was it again?"

Bret patiently repeated himself. "Did somebody deliberately run your herd off? And if that answers yes, why would they do that?"

"Yes, it was done deliberately. And all I can tell you is they're afraid of change." She exhaled a long breath after speaking.

"Change? What's that got to do with mustangs?" Bart nodded at her roan stallion. "And an Arabian?"

"You recognize the breed?"

Bart nodded. "Sure."

"You boys lookin' for work?"

"Maybe. Depends on what it is." Bart turned to Bret and shrugged his shoulders as if to say _'What do_ _you expect? It's a beautiful girl.'_

"Come join me on the porch for a drink?" Molly invited.

"We don't drink."

A pleased smile spread across her face. "How about fresh coffee?"

Bret smiled back and nodded. "Yes, ma'am, that we can do."

As they followed Molly up towards the house, Bart whispered to Bret, "Hancock and Delacroix?"

Bret grinned back at his brother. "I just had a feelin' we shouldn't be who we are."

¿Cuál es la estampida acerca? – What's the stampede about?

Camarera - Waitress


	3. Forty Dollars But No Mule

Chapter 2 – Forty Dollars But No Mule

Molly poured coffee and both men said "Thank you." She set the pot down on the small table she kept on the porch and looked from one to the other. "What were you doin' in Yuma?"

"Just passin' through," Bart answered.

"On the way to . . . ?"

"Nowhere in particular," Bret supplied.

"My daddy raised me here," Molly began. "He was a cross-breeder of cattle, tryin' to develop a new breed that was more tolerant of the heat and weather we have here in southwest Arizona. I have no interest in cattle, but the idea intrigued me. So I started tryin' to do the same thing with horses. I'd been working on it for a while when the Army at Fort Yuma got wind of it and expressed interest. That's when the trouble started."

"The trouble we saw?" Bart asked.

"That, among other things. Tearin' down my fences. Killed one of my mares that was in foal. Stole two more. Tried to burn down the barn, but I caught those two."

"You know who's causin' the trouble?"

"Not for sure. There's three other ranchers in this valley that have agreements with the army to supply horses. The two that got caught in the barn worked for one place, but the bunch you saw today have worked for all three at one time or another. Of course, they all deny responsibility."

"What about the law? Isn't there a U.S. Marshal in Yuma?" That question came from Bret.

"There is. I don't know whether he's stupid or corrupt or both. Name's Conrad Sanders. Been here about a year. Just about the time the trouble started. Our sheriff got killed and the mayor requested a marshal from the Feds rather than hire somebody else. Said we needed somebody with 'more authority' than just a sheriff, because Fort Yuma's so close. Every once in a while there's some trouble with the Army, and Mayor Branch thought a Marshal could deal with it better."

"Has he?"

"Sometimes. But he sure hasn't done any good by me." There was a tone in her voice somewhere between disgust and disdain.

Bart grimaced. He knew all too well what it was like to deal with a lawman that shouldn't be one. "So, about that job . . . "

She turned to look at 'Hancock.' "So, you know horses. What else can you do?"

"Just about anything that doesn't require hard work."

Molly chuckled, and then laughed, and it was the first time either man had seen or heard anything beyond a smile. "Seriously . . . "

"Seriously, that's the truth," Bret explained, and all three laughed this time. "Not much we haven't done," he added for good measure.

"I built a school."

Bret looked at his brother with a puzzled expression. "You did what?"

"I built a school. Well, I built part of a school. My wrist got broken and I couldn't finish it."

"When did you do that?"

"The six months I was in Mexico." After all this time, that was the first Bret had ever heard of it. What else happened in Mexico that he didn't know about?

"And you broke your wrist?"

The younger gambler nodded. "And my hand."

"No wonder you were there for six months."

"That wasn't the reason, and you know it." Bret had sounded a little churlish, and Bart really couldn't blame him. He'd long ago promised that he would sit his brother down and tell him about what happened during that time period; the explanation had never come to pass.

"Any other talents?" Molly interrupted their dialogue.

"Just about anything you can name. Play a pretty fair game of poker, too."

"And there was the time – "

"Naw, don't tell her about that."

"No? Alright."

Her head was twisting back and forth, trying to keep up with the two of them. "Alright, alright. I could use a couple of reliable men to help keep everything safe around here. To help with the horses. And see how much of this can be stopped before it gets outta hand."

"How much does it pay?" Bart asked.

"Thirty-five dollars a month plus room and board."

The brothers looked at each other. "Forty-five."

"Forty and I'll let you pick your own crew."

Another look passed between them, and Bret nodded. "Deal."

"When can you start?" Molly asked.

"In the mornin'. Tonight's already paid for at the hotel."

"Have you got first names to go with those last names?"

"Jamie," said Hancock.

"Joe," answered Delacroix.

XXXXXXXX

"What have we gotten into now?" Bret asked as they rode back to town.

"Another mess that ain't ours," Bart answered. "But how could we ignore a sweet young thing like that?"

"You know what happened the last time a pretty girl needed help, don't you?"

"I don't recall," Bart insisted.

"That's odd – neither do I. It probably almost got one or the other of us killed. Let's try to avoid that this time, shall we?"

"I think that's a wise idea."

Bret sighed. "Are we playin' poker tonight or are we gonna be smart and get some sleep?"

"I think we should be smart and . . . play poker."

The older brother laughed out loud. "That's what I love about you, little brother – you're so logical."

XXXXXXXX

The cowboy stood in front of Jeremiah's desk and tried his best to explain. "We got 'em outta there and ran 'em through town, just like you ordered boss, but she was right behind us. Only way we coulda gotten away with it was to shoot her, and you told us not to do that."

"I probably should have let you," Jeremiah muttered to himself. "Alright, Racker, get on outta here. I'll think up somethin' different for the next time."

The cowboy turned and left the room, happy just to escape without being fired, or worse. Jeremiah looked at the man sitting in front of his desk.

"This situation isn't going to resolve itself, Burns. We're going to have to do something more drastic than just harassment. That little girl's every bit as stubborn as her father was."

"We've run off all her hired hands, now even the Vaqueros don't want to work for her anymore. How much longer can this go on?"

"Not much, I hope. She can't run that whole place by herself, and that's all she's got now. Unless she gets somebody from the outside to come in and work for her."

"No chance of that. There's nobody left that would touch any of those jobs."

Jeremiah almost snorted. "And you said the only way to force her out was to kill her. Once we get rid of her and that foolish cross-breeding idea she's got we can go back to running cattle on the land. And the Army contract will be ours as long as we want it."

Burns shifted in his chair to look at Nance Tesson. "You're awful quiet, Nance."

The big man shook his head. "I still think we shoulda just burned everything and run her out a long time ago. Just because all this child's play has worked so far doesn't mean it's gonna continue that way."

"No reason to think it won't. Where's she gonna find somebody to help her? Everybody in the valley knows what'll happen to them if they do."

Nance shook his head. "You mark my words. She ain't gonna be as easy to get rid of as you think."


	4. Rivals

Chapter 3 – Rivals

"Now, aren't you glad we played poker instead of sleepin'?"

Bret patted his coat pocket, which contained his wallet, now considerably fatter than it had been last night. "You bet I am. Let's go get outta this hotel."

They packed and went to the dining room for breakfast, then headed out to Molly Hooper's place. She was already outside trying to patch-up part of the fence that had fallen into disrepair. The brothers dismounted at the corral and Bret hurried over to help. Bart couldn't recall seeing his brother move that fast to do manual labor since he was about sixteen or seventeen years old. Of course there was a beautiful girl involved that time, too. Bart took the horses into the barn and prepared two clean stalls, then unsaddled both horses and turned them into their new quarters. Noble nuzzled around the pockets of Bart's jacket, looking for anything that might pass as an apple. The gambler had to apologize to his gelding. "Sorry, old man, I don't have one with me. I'll find one for ya first chance I get."

The horse nickered and bobbed his head, then pushed his owner out of the stall. Bret's stallion was much more placid, behaving himself the way he usually did. Molly's stallion was in a stall across the barn and Bart stopped to watch the horse for a minute. He was a fine looking roan, about fifteen hands tall, and even more regal in appearance than he been when saddled. He took as much interest in Bart as the gambler did in him, finally walking over to see who this new person was. "Hey, buddy, you got some ladies outside waitin' for ya," he told the horse as the animal snorted and pawed the hay in acknowledgment.

"He usually doesn't take to people that fast," Molly remarked as she ventured into the barn. "Good, I see you've gotten your horses taken care of. Nice looking buckskin you ride, Jamie. I noticed him last night."

"If you don't mind, I'd just as soon you called me Hancock. Most everybody does." He turned to look behind him at Noble, who was watching every move Bart made. "His names Noble, but I tend to call him Old Man. We've been together a while now."

"A man's horse says a lot about him. Yours makes quite a statement."

"I can't take any credit for that. He chose me."

"Oh?"

"Yeah, it's a long story. I'll tell ya sometime." He picked up both sets of bags, clothing and saddlebags, and started outside with them just as Bret came around the corner.

"Fence is fixed for now. We'll cut a new rail for that spot I patched as soon as we get a chance. Here, let me take those," and he reached over and grabbed his belongings from his brother, then turned back to Molly. "You got anybody in the bunkhouse?"

"No, it's empty. Even the Vaqueros quit after last night."

"We'll go grab a bunk and then come up to the house. We'll find men to work somewhere in this valley," Bart told her.

Molly shook her head and started towards the porch. The Mavericks looked at each other before heading for the bunkhouse with their gear, both of them wondering what they'd walked into.

XXXXXXXX

"Well, we've got plenty of room." That was Bart's observation as he looked around. He hadn't been inside one of these in ages. For some reason they made him feel old, which he was a long way from being.

"We can go to Yuma tomorrow and put out the word that we're lookin' for a crew. Things can't be so bad that nobody'll come out here."

"I think we better find out all we can about these three ranches that have deals with the Army. Maybe we should ride over to Fort Yuma and talk to whoever's in charge over there."

"That's somethin' to do, Bart. But I think it better be just one of us that goes. I'm not sure it's a good idea to leave Molly alone, at least until we get some hands in here."

"Better get used to callin' me Hancock. That's what I told Molly I go by."

Bret chuckled and then replied. "Hancock, huh? Not Jamie?"

'No, Bret, not Jamie. You saddled me with Hancock, I'm gonna use it."

"Fine. Then you can call me Delacroix. I kinda like those names."

"Pappy'd have a fit if he knew."

"Pappy'd have a fit if he knew we took jobs."

"Not if he took a look at Molly he wouldn't."

"There's more to life than beautiful women, Brother Bart."

"Besides women and money, you mean. Women, money and poker."

"Yes. Yes, I did."

"Well, one of the three of 'em is waitin' for us up at the house. Don't you think we oughta go?"

"I do, Hancock."

"After you, Delacroix."

They sauntered out of the bunkhouse, then walked a bit faster up the small hill to Molly's. She had a fresh pot of coffee ready and the three of them sat down in the main room of the house to discuss a plan for dealing with the day-to-day operations of the ranch and the disruptions that kept occurring.

The house was compact and cozy, with an airy feeling inside. There was a small fireplace, just in case it ever got cold, and the furnishings were comfortable but not extravagant. "You got settled in?" Molly asked.

"Sure," came Bart's standard answer. "Tell us what you can about the three ranches that have agreements with Fort Yuma."

"And try not to leave anything out, whether it seems important or not," Bret added.

"Alright. The first one's Jeremiah Bircken. He's been here the longest, bought his place about ten years ago. I thought he was a friend of my father's, but lately I'm not so sure. He's a cattleman, but he supplies horses to the Fort, too. When dad died, he tried to buy the ranch, and I considered selling it to him for a while. Then I decided not to sell, and he's been . . . difficult to get along with since then. I suspect he wants to turn the land back into cattle property, but he's never said for sure.

"The second one is Burns Wolcott. He was actually the first to have an agreement with the Fort for horses; his cattle sales to the army followed. Burns is a strange man. He'll shake your hand while he's stabbing you in the back. That's as far as his violent tendencies go, however. He prefers to wage psychological warfare on people. There was some property that bordered his ranch; it belonged to sheep men. Now I'm not a sheep lover, but they've got a right to exist, just like we all do. He wanted that land to build a second barn. Burns did everything he could to run them out of the valley, just short of violence. He finally succeeded. Needless to say, now he owns the land.

"The last one is Nance Tesson. He's absolutely frightening. He's a big man physically, probably a couple inches taller than you, Joe, and outweighs you by a lot. There's no doubt in my mind that he's responsible for the poor little mare I found dead. I think the man is capable of anything. He came into the valley about eighteen months ago, and things went downhill once he got here. He, Burns and Jeremiah have formed some sort of a company, and they seem to be out to control all the livestock that gets sold to the Army, whether it's horses or cattle. One of Nance's wranglers shot a small rancher at the saloon in town and the marshal called it self-defense. Half a dozen people saw the altercation and said it was cold-blooded murder, but everybody was too scared to testify.

"Those are the three men with the supply agreements. And the three that appear to be behind the attempt to stop my cross-breeding. Like I said before, I can't prove anything, but there's no reason for anybody else to be either disruptive or destructive."

"When was the last time you tried to hire wranglers, Molly?" Bart asked the girl.

"About a month ago. Two men in town were willing to come work for me, but they never showed up here. When I went to Yuma to find them, they'd up and left town."

"What kinda wage were you offerin'?"

"Thirty a month, room and board, meals and a horse."

The men once again exchanged glances. It was more than fair, and should have brought all kinds of ranch hands out to at least see what the job entailed. "You try over in Braxton?" Bret asked.

"Once, several months ago. Not recently."

"And that bunch you had yesterday, they were the only Vaquero's you could get?"

"No," she answered, looking utterly discouraged. "That was the third group I hired. And the third group that left."

Bart had been quiet, listening and thinking. "I know some people down in Nogales. We could probably get some a them up here."

"From your six months in Mexico?" Bret asked, once again feeling left out of something significant that had happened in his brother's life.

Bart recognized the hurt in Bret's voice and quickly sought to explain. "Not in Nogales. I was down there several weeks ago when you were in El Paso."

"Oh yeah, I remember. You think you could get some of 'em here?"

"If I have to. I think so."

Bret glanced at his brother, temporarily pacified. "Alright. Why don't you go to Yuma tomorrow and see what you can scare up? I'll ride out to the fort the next day. That way Molly won't be here by herself."

Molly's backside stiffened. "Are you implying that I can't take care of myself and shouldn't be left alone?"

"No, ma'am," Bret quickly answered. "Just that you might need help if somebody tries to run your herd off again, and it wouldn't be real responsible if we left you here alone. I remember that rifle all too well."

Bart heard the tone of his brother's voice and saw the look in his eyes. Something had sparked his interest in Molly Hooper, and that put Bart on potentially dangerous ground. The horse-breeder was everything he looked for in a woman – beautiful, feisty, smart, and capable. Was this the first time in their lives his rival for a woman's affections was going to be his brother?


	5. The Meeting

Chapter 4 – The Meeting

They found little things to do around the ranch the rest of the day – it had been too long since Molly had someone to pay attention to the small tasks. Bart fixed a hole in the barn roof; Bret repaired some loose boards on the porch, then they worked together to restore the chicken coop to functionality. They watered and fed the Mustangs, then did the same for Noble, Bret's stallion Blackthorn, and Molly's roan. They'd just sat down with Molly on the porch to rest for a few minutes before she served supper when a rider approached. "It's Marshal Sanders," she told them, and both men were immediately on alert.

He seemed surprised to find anyone with the ranch owner. Sanders wasn't a tall man, but he was built solidly, with sandy blonde hair and piercing eyes. He wore a double rig gun belt, with a Colt on either side and a Marshal's badge on his chest. He tipped his hat after he dismounted, and held onto the reins rather than wrap them around the hitching rail. "Miss Molly, I didn't know you had company."

"I don't, Conrad. These are the two men who are going to be running the ranch and helping with the breeding program. Jamie Hancock, Joe Delacroix, this is Marshal Conrad Sanders. What is it that you wanted, Marshal?"

"Hancock. Delacroix." He nodded to each of them; neither Maverick brother saying anything. "I heard you had some more trouble out here last night, Molly."

"Yep. Damaged part of my fence and ran my mares through town. I got 'em back, as you can see. I don't expect that to be happening again."

"With just two men?"

Bret finally spoke up. "We'll have a crew shortly."

"Really?" Sanders asked. "And just where are you gonna get a crew?"

"That sounds like a challenge, Marshal. Trust us, we'll have one," Bart insisted.

Sanders shook his head. "Oh, I believe you think you'll have one. I'm just not sure who's gonna be willing to work out here."

"You tryin' to tell us somethin'?" Bret asked.

"No, not at all. Just makin' an observation." He turned back to Molly. "Any idea who caused the trouble last night?"

"You know better than to ask that, Conrad. They make sure they can't be identified."

He shook his head slightly. "You know I can't do anything about it if you can't tell me who they were."

"I don't recall asking you to do anything."

"Alright, Molly, Just tryin' to get to the bottom of the problem. You let me know if anything else happens. Mr. Hancock. Mr. Delacroix." He tipped his hat to Molly, remounted his horse and trotted back the way he'd come.

"Don't much care for him," Bret observed.

"That makes two of us," Bart added.

"Dinner should be done, gentleman. Come on inside and eat." She got up from her chair and the gamblers followed her.

XXXXXXXX

The lawman rode straight to the Bircken Ranch. There was a horse out front he didn't recognize, and Nance Tesson's gray gelding. This time when he dismounted he tied his reins to the hitching rail, then bounded up the steps and straight inside. Jeremiah looked up from his desk when Sanders walked into the room. "Well, Conrad, come on in. You look like a man on a mission."

"Where's Nance?" the marshal asked.

"Right here," Tesson answered, as he entered the office with a fresh cup of coffee in his hands.

"And Burns?"

Nance shook his head. "Still at home?"

"Then whose horse – "

"Mine," answered Branch Haven.

"Well, Mr. Mayor, haven't seen you in a few days."

"Out of town," Branch replied, then sat down next to Nance.

"How'd it go at Hooper's?" Jeremiah interrupted before the Mayor could say anything else.

"Part of it? Normal. She couldn't identify anyone."

"Part of it?" Nance asked.

Sanders nodded. "Part of it. Got any more of that coffee?"

Jeremiah picked up a gold bell sitting on the corner of his desk and rang it. A Señorita of perhaps fourteen or fifteen came hurrying in, making no sound except for the rustle of her skirts. "Coffee, Fidelia, and another cup."

As soon as the girl left the room Bircken asked his question. "What's the rest of it?"

"She had two cowboys with her I never seen before."

The Mayor snorted. "Cowboys? So what?"

Conrad almost stared a hole through the Mayor. Before he could answer Fidelia came back in with the coffee pot and an empty cup. She set the cup in front of the marshal and filled it with the hot, rich smelling black liquid, then filled everyone else's cup. "Leave the pot, Fidelia," Bircken told her, and she set the pot on a towel and left the room. "Now, Conrad, quit playing games and tell us what's so unusual about these 'cowboys'."

"They're no ordinary saddle tramps," the marshal started. "Delgado told me he saw 'em in the saloon the night before playin' poker and winnin' everything in sight." Delgado Hernandez was the town deputy marshal.

"So?"

"Wasn't no run a good luck," Conrad continued. "Delgado said they handled themselves like professionals. Didn't drink, knew exactly what they were doin' at all times. Now what's two men that can play poker like that doin' goin' to work for a rancher, and a woman rancher at that?"

Nance asked the next question. "You get names?"

"Hancock and Delacroix. Never heard of either one of 'em."

"When you get back to town see if you got anything on either one."

Conrad nodded. "I intend to. What do we do now?"

"Nothing. Until we know what we're dealing with."

"I told you she wasn't gonna be easy to get rid of." Nance almost smirked when he said it.

"We've dealt with everything she's come up with," Jeremiah reminded him. "Why do you think two saddle tramps are gonna give us a problem?"

"Because he's always looking for trouble," Branch interjected.

"And it's a good thing I do, too," Tesson reminded them. "I've saved this whole operation more than once."

"Yes, yes, Nance, we're well aware of that. But let's be smart about this, shall we? There's no sense rushing into anything until we know exactly what we're dealing with. Let's meet at the regular time tomorrow, at Wolcott's house. Maybe Burns will be able to get there if we make it convenient for him," Bircken suggested. The Mayor laughed nervously. Even Nance chuckled.

"Alright," the marshal agreed as he set his empty cup back on the desk. "I'm goin' back to town and see what I can dig up on our two new problems. Mayor, you comin' with me?"

"Not just yet, Conrad. I'll come see you when I return."

The marshal tipped his hat and got up. "Well, I'm about done for the night, boys. I'll see you all tomorrow." And with that, he left.

Jeremiah looked up from his coffee. "Keep an eye on him, would you, Nance? I'm still not sure our marshal is with us one-hundred percent."

"Conrad's alright," Branch Haven defended his pick for lawman. "Just because he wants to be certain of everything before he fully commits . . . "

"I know, Mayor, what you think. I'd just like a little reassurance is all."

Nance Tesson got up from his chair and stretched to his full height. _'The man really was large,'_ thought Jeremiah.

"I'm goin' home," Nance announced to no one in particular. "I'll see you all at Wolcott's tomorrow." The room seemed to get suddenly larger after Nance left.

"How much trouble do you think we've got now?" Mayor Haven asked his good friend.

Jeremiah shook his head. "I don't know, Branch, I can't imagine too much from two men. I think it's just a matter of time before we get Hooper to give up on this cross-breeding nonsense and sell us her land."

The mayor sighed. "I hope you're right, Jeremiah. I surely hope you're right."


	6. Mending Fences

Chapter 5 – Mending Fences

Bart got up early and saddled Noble, riding into Yuma to begin the search for ranch hands. He ate breakfast at the cantina and asked about anyone looking for work; but as soon as he mentioned Molly Hooper all interest in being employed doing anything dried up. No one would give him a reason, until he finally convinced the cook to tell him, "There is a curse."

Of course that was nonsense, but perhaps what the Vaqueros thought of as a curse was actually a threat from one or more of the three men they'd heard all about last night. He finally stopped in at the marshal's office and found Conrad Sanders going through old, old 'Wanted' posters. "Lookin' for anybody in particular?" he asked the Marshal, who'd looked up and then back down when he came in.

"Yeah, you in here somewhere?"

"Nope."

"How about your partner, what was his name?"

"Delacroix," Bart answered. "Joe Delacroix. No, you won't find him in there, either."

The marshal put down the stack and motioned to a chair next to his desk. Bart sat down. "Where'd you say you two were from?"

"We didn't. You lookin' for a reason to run us outta town? You won't find one." Bart watched the lawman and grinned, always happy to aggravate most anyone that wore a badge.

"That doesn't answer my question, now does it?"

"Nope. I tell you what, you answer a question for me and I'll answer yours."

"What?" Sanders asked.

"What's this business about a curse on workin' at the Hooper ranch?"

"That is an odd one, isn't it? Far as I know it got started when one of the Vaqueros found that mare of Molly Hooper's dead. Started babbling about a 'curse' on the ranch' and it just spread."

Bart nodded. "Alright, I might be able to buy that from the Vaqueros, but nobody else will take a job there, either. Is there a story behind that?"

"That I've got no answer for," the marshal drawled. "Now, about my question . . . "

"South Carolina."

"What?"

"South Carolina. That's where we're from."

"Where in South Carolina?"

Bart shook his head. "I answered your question. That's what I agreed to. For your information, you won't find nobody back there lookin' for us, either." The gambler stood up and headed for the door. "An just in case you're wonderin', Marshal, if somebody runs Molly Hooper's horses off again, we'll be able to identify who's responsible." Bart didn't explain or clarify that remark, more than willing to let Sanders figure out what he meant all by himself.

XXXXXXXX

"What else have you got around here that needs taking care of?"

Molly had to stop and laugh. Bret had been going since early morning, repairing or replacing everything he could. Anything he and Bart hadn't been able to get done the day before, he took care of today, and it was only lunch time. "How about you stop and eat lunch?" Molly asked.

"How about we stop and eat lunch?" Bret came back with.

"Alright. Come in with me and I'll make it."

"I wanna get – "

"It will wait, Joe," Molly told him.

It had seemed odd to him at first, being called Joe, but the more he heard it the more familiar it became. So when she called him Joe now he stopped and looked at her, then grinned. "Yes, boss. Any more of that sweet tea left?"

"I've always got some of that on hand. Come on inside."

He bounded up the steps in front of her and held the door open. "Sure you want me to come in? I'm kinda dirty."

"Of course I do. Anyway, it's cooler in here."

She was right, of course. It was cooler inside. And something that was cooking smelled awfully good. "That's our dinner tonight," Molly told him. "You don't have anything against rabbit's, do you?"

He shook his head and laughed as she poured him a glass of tea and passed it over. "No, but my . . ." _he caught himself before he said 'brother'_ . . . "partner talks to them. Not sure if they talk back or not."

"Will he eat rabbit stew?"

"He'll eat anything that smells like that. You put that with some – "

"Fresh biscuits and honey?" she asked.

"Yes, ma'am, you read my mind."

"Are you always this polite, Joe? Or are you like your friend and want me to call you Delacroix?"

"Doesn't much matter. Long as you don't call me late for supper."

She presented him with a giant sandwich on homemade bread. "There's some fresh-picked apples when you're done."

"Save one of those," he told her. "Hancock'll want one for Noble."

"Thinks a lot of that gelding, doesn't he?"

"He does. Noble's saved his hide on more than one occasion. One time down in Mexico that horse is the only reason a bunch of Federales didn't kill him." Bret, of course, was thinking of the time that Bart rescued Doralice Donovan from being hung. Noble outran everything except for one lone bullet, but he was the only reason Bart didn't catch more than that before being rescued by his brother and cousin.

"Chased by Federales? Was he in trouble down there?"

"No, ma'am, he went down to rescue a woman that had killed someone in self-defense but was convicted and scheduled to be hung anyway."

"Were you with him?" she asked, even more curious than before.

"Nope. He snuck off to do it by himself. I had to go down after him. Good thing I did, too."

"Obviously you brought him back alive."

"Not for lack of trying on his part. I finished the rescue job that Noble started."

Molly watched him eat the last of the sandwich. "He'd do the same for you, wouldn't he?"

"Oh yeah. And has on many occasions. Why once . . . " he saw her watching him and stopped. "Now why am I tellin' you all this? Talk to me about Molly Hooper."

She picked up her glass and motioned for him to do the same. "Come out on the porch. I'll tell you there."

Back to the porch they went; a fresh breeze had kicked up. "It's nice this time of year, and I love to sit here and rock – just watch the trees blow and the horses play."

Bret looked over at her and saw the smile in her eyes. "How long have you been here by yourself?"

"A little over four years," she explained. "My father caught the fever that was goin' around, then pneumonia, and died in the spring. I still miss him."

"What about your ma?"

"I never knew her. She died in childbirth. Daddy raised me from the day I was born. He was a good, good, father and I miss him, still."

"No aunts, uncles or cousins?" Bret inquired.

"Nope. None. Just me and daddy, and all the ranch hands I grew up with. Jess and Dusty and Sam and Harvey. I miss them all, but when Daddy died they needed to work, and it was gonna be a good six months before I'd have jobs for them. So they found other spots. Dusty worked for Jeremiah for a while, but he finally left about a year ago. Took a job in Wyoming. I still can't imagine him in the cold, working in the wintertime."

"Yeah, Wyoming winters are not for the faint-of-heart. We spent some time up there."

She turned in her rocker. "Can I ask you a question?"

"Sure," he told her, and immediately wondered how Bart was doing in Yuma. "What is it?"

"Do you and Hancock go everywhere together?"

He laughed out loud and finished the rest of his tea before answering her. "No. Most of the time, but not always. Like he said yesterday, he was in Nogales while I was in El Paso just recently."

"That wasn't his first trip to Mexico, was it?"

"Caught that, did you? Hancock was married a few years ago. His wife got killed and he disappeared into Mexico for six months or more. I couldn't find him, and believe me, I looked everywhere I could think of. He still won't talk about it." He paused for a moment, and exhaled before he continued. "He finally seems to have gotten over it, but it took a long time. And there wasn't anything I could do to help."

Molly's face revealed a look of sympathy. "Some things you just have to go through by yourself."

"I know that, but br . . . friends are supposed to help each other."

"He seems alright now."

"He is, for the most part. For a long time he felt guilty, but he finally realized there wasn't nothin' he could do to prevent it."

"He saw it happen?"

Bret nodded. "Happened right in front of him. Man came to kill both of 'em, shot Hancock an killed her."

"Why? What caused it, I mean?"

"Fella was after her ranch. Tried to run 'em off and they wouldn't go."

It suddenly dawned on her, why they both seemed so determined to help her. "Is that why . . . ?"

"Part of it, I'm sure."

"And you?"

"Me? I'm just here because I've got nowhere else to be."

"Mmmm-hmmm. Speaking of nowhere to be, I've got a table in the barn that needs repair. How are you with furniture?"

"Well, I've never built a school, but I think I can handle a table. What's wrong with it?"

They set their empty glasses on the porch and headed towards the barn. There was an admiration in her eyes that hadn't been there before. Back to work.


	7. Change of Direction

Chapter 6 – Change of Direction

"Nobody?"

"Nobody in Yuma."

They were once again at the supper table, just finishing with the rabbit stew, and Bret was shaking his head in dismay. "Are they that convinced the ranch is cursed?"

"Most of the Mexicans are, yeah. Somethin' different with everybody else. They're afraid. I can only assume it's because of some threat that's been made. Everybody says no, but that's all they'll say."

"Did you get up to Braxton?" Bret asked next.

"No, I figured I can do that when you come back from the fort. I'm not convinced we'll have much luck in Braxton, either."

"Nogales?"

Bart nodded. "Probably. At least they'll listen to me when I tell 'em there's no curse on the ranch."

"You hope," Molly interjected.

"Naw, I played poker with all the Vaqueros down there. They know me; I think they'll listen. If not, I'll ride on down to Magdalena."

"Isn't that – " Bret started.

"Yeah," Bart finished before his brother could continue.

"Well, I'm goin' to the Fort tomorrow. Who'd you talk to, Molly?"

"Colonel Jessup. He seemed to be a fair, reasonable man. Let's hope he still is." Her face was full of hope, but her voice was skeptical.

"You got anything left around here besides that fence to be fixed?"

Bret laughed. "No, I think you pretty well avoided most a the work."

"Hey, now. It was your idea that I go to Yuma. By the way, what's the deal with Sanders? He was lookin' through wanted posters, tryin' to find us."

"Good luck with that," Bret stated. "Anything else?"

"Yeah, he wanted to know where we were from. I told him South Carolina."

"South Carolina? You told me Texas." Molly looked momentarily confused.

"Texas is the truth, but so's Carolina. That's where our family's from," Bart clarified.

The older brother chortled at Bart's subterfuge. "Won't find anybody lookin' for us in either place."

"Well, it'll keep him busy for a while. Now, about that work . . . "

"Know how to brand?"

Bart wrinkled his nose. It was not among his favorite things to do, but then not much was beyond playing poker and reading. "Not my favorite, but yeah, I can do it."

"That's what's left on the agenda," the 'boss' announced. "I need to get those mares branded before somebody comes along and runs them off."

"They won't try that again."

"Why not?" Molly asked. "Nothing ever stopped them before."

"Because I told Sanders that if it happens again we'll be able to identify the thieves," Bart responded.

"And you think that will work?"

"If I read the marshal correctly, he'll get the word to the right people."

"You think Sanders is in on it?" Bret asked.

"I'm not sure he's in on it, but aware of who's responsible? Yeah."

XXXXXXXX

At that very moment Jeremiah, Burns, Nance, Branch, and Conrad were all making themselves comfortable in Wolcott's den. This time the drink of choice was brandy instead of coffee, and everyone except the marshal had a glass of it. When they'd all gotten settled, Nance became his usual prickly self. "Nice of you to join us, Burns."

Wolcott looked up from his glass and smirked at the big man. "You know, Nance, some of us have families that require our attention on occasion."

"I have a family," Nance shot back.

"I mean something besides two dogs and a horse," Burns answered, just as quickly.

"Children, children, let's play nice, shall we?" Jeremiah chastised. "Conrad, you have some news for us?"

"I do," the marshal answered. 'Not unexpected. I checked every wanted poster that office has ever received. There's nothin' on either of those two that Molly hired. Hancock did cough up that they're from South Carolina, so I've got one more person I've sent a telegram to. They're tryin' to hire a crew like we expected. Hancock was in my office yesterday askin' about curses and superstitions. He ain't stupid; he's got an idea there's somethin' goin' on. No more runnin' Hooper's mares off either; the cowboy let it be known they expected it and would identify whoever's responsible. Time to try somethin' new."

"I'm open to suggestions," Bircken admitted.

"Shoot her," Nance suggested.

"Nance," Branch started.

"Shoot all three of 'em," Nance continued.

"We can't do that," Wolcott reminded him.

"Why not?" Nance asked as he turned to Conrad. "You're the marshal. Why can't we shoot 'em? All of 'em. Then these stupid meetin's would stop."

"Got to be another way," the mayor declared.

Tesson sighed. "Don't know why nobody's payin' any attention to me. We'll end up killin' 'em all in the end, anyway."

"No, we won't, Nance," Conrad was firm. "Maybe the cowboys. Not Molly."

"Marshal's got a sweet spot for the lady rancher."

"Damn right I do, Nance. And you or anyone else in this group ain't gonna shoot her."

"Well, we better do somethin'. This is gettin' outta hand," Burns reminded all of them.

"I've got an idea," Conrad offered. "And it should make Nance happy."

The big man's ears perked up. "You're gonna let me shoot somebody."

"At somebody, Nance. The first step is at somebody."

"Better than nothin'," was the reply.

"If this doesn't work you can beat on one of 'em. How's that?"

"Do I get to pick which one?"

"No," the marshal insisted. "That pleasure's all mine." He'd already decided that Hancock was the trouble-maker, and his choice for the one that needed to be taken down a peg or two. If they really were as stubborn as he figured them to be. He explained his idea to the group, and it was decided that the time had come to implement Conrad's suggestion. At the first opportunity that presented itself.


	8. Shattered Glass

Chapter 7 – Shattered Glass

Bret didn't get up quite as early as Bart had the day before; he was too fond of sleeping late to do that. He did saddle Blackthorn and get the stallion ready to go before going to Molly's for breakfast, and was surprised to find Bart already sitting inside drinking coffee.

"You were still asleep when I left for the barn," Bret announced.

"I move faster than you do," was his brother's reply.

"Only sometimes."

"Coffee?" Molly asked as she hovered over his empty cup.

He nodded and smiled. "Yes, ma'am. How far's Fort Yuma from here?"

"About two hours," the girl answered. "Will you stay there overnight?"

"No, no, no," came the gambler's reply. "I'd rather ride back in the dark than stay at the fort. I've had enough of those to last a lifetime."

"Forts?"

Bret's mouth was full of coffee and Bart answered for his brother. "Forts. We spent three years as Indian fighters after we got captured by the Yankees."

"As bad as it sounds?"

"Not all of it," Bret finally answered. "At least we got more food than in Camp Douglas. And we weren't freezin' to death all the time."

"Nope. Just half the Indian nation tryin' to kill us." Bart thought about that for a minute. "Maybe not half. A third."

"But you both survived."

"That we did. So I'll be back sometime tonight. Save me some supper."

Bart set his fork down, having finished his eggs and ham. "Delacroix."

"Hmmmm?"

"Be careful."

"I plan on it. You two do the same." He stood from the table and grabbed what was left of his ham, taking it with him. Minutes later Bart and Molly heard him ride away.

"You ready to get started?" she asked and watched the look of unhappiness spread across his face.

"No, but let's do it anyway."

Fortunately today was cooler than yesterday had been, and the two of them worked well together. It was the first time Bart had done any branding with a woman, and Molly certainly knew what she was doing. It was hard work, and both of them worked up a sweat. Finally at lunchtime Molly called a halt to the proceedings. "I'm sure not hungry yet, but if I don't get something to drink and sit down for a few minutes I may pass out," she told Bart. "Sound good to you?"

"Sure," came the standard answer, and he followed her back to the house, where he deposited himself in one of the rockers on the porch. "Ah, feels good to sit down."

"At least it's not as bad as branding cattle," Molly told him as she brought two glasses of tea out to the porch.

"You've done that, too?"

"I grew up on a cattle ranch. My father taught me to brand when I was about twelve. He wouldn't let me help until then."

"I'm surprised he taught you at all."

"Hmmpf," she practically snorted. "He didn't have a son to teach and he needed all the help he could get come spring branding."

"Still, it is a rather unusual skill for a woman to have."

"I suppose. What about your parents? What did they teach you?" Molly wondered if Hancock would reveal any more to her than Delacroix had.

"Momma taught me how to read. Pappy . . . among other things, Pappy taught me poker."

"Then who taught you branding?"

"I worked one summer on a neighbor's spread. That's where I learned about Arabian's, too. He had one and I was told to take care of 'im."

"What about Joe?"

Bart had to stop and think for a second before it dawned on him that she was talking about his brother. "I don't know where he learned to brand. You'd have to ask him." That was the absolute truth. He had no idea when or where Bret had learned to brand livestock.

"Can we finish this today?" Molly asked.

"I don't see why not. You ready to start breedin'?"

"Yes, I am. I've got a whole plan laid out on paper. This time next year I should have my third batch of foals."

"You've done this before?"

"Twice, already. I sold the second batch to another breeder up north. He's workin' on fourth generation cross-breeds."

"How's it goin' so far?"

"We both think we're going in the right direction."

"Speakin' of directions, let's get back to work," Bart told her. Much as he didn't want to, better to get it done and get it over with rather than sit still any longer.

They were walking across the yard to the corral when the first shot was fired. He grabbed her by the arm and pushed her ahead of him, behind the barn door, which was standing open. He hadn't worn a gun this morning so it wouldn't get in the way of the branding, and quickly followed her. "Is there a rifle in the barn?" he asked her. She nodded.

"On the back wall. Above the empty stall." He grabbed her hand and pulled her forward and inside the barn.

"Get down and stay down," Bart told Molly, and she did as she was told. He made his way to the back of the barn and got the rifle down from the wall, then worked his way back to the front of the shed. "I think the war just escalated," he told her, and seconds later another shot rang out. One of the mares squealed in pain.

"They're shooting my girls!" Molly cried, and tried to grab the rifle away from him. Another shot was fired and shattered the glass in the barn window, only inches from Molly's head.

"Get down!" Bart yelled as he aimed the rifle out the broken panes and fired. Two more shots came crashing through what was left of the window, one of them too close for comfort. The remaining glass destroyed, one of the shards caught Bart in the back of his left hand and blood immediately started running down his arm.

"You're hit!" Molly hissed, and he glanced down at the blood.

"It's just a piece of glass, it's alright. Keep your head down."

"Who's doing this?" she cried. "What did I ever do? What did my horses do?"

"You hired us," Bart told her. "Stay here. I'm goin' out the back."

He ran to the back of the barn and snuck out the door, the rifle carried low against his body. There was a flash of something in the trees up on the hill and he quickly aimed and fired, and was rewarded with a squeal of pain. A human squeal of pain. No more shots rained from the hill and some seconds later a horse could be heard crashing through the trees and fallen foliage, then hightailing it away from the ranch perimeter. Molly heard it too and yelled out, "Are they gone?"

"I think so," Bart answered. "Stay there until I tell you it's alright." He crept around the side of the barn and heard nothing; no further shots. He waited almost five minutes and then took a calculated risk and walked along the outside of the barn. When he got to the front and all remained quiet, he re-entered the barn through the front door. "They're gone. Come take the rifle, I'll see to the horses." He handed her the gun and she covered him through the window as he went to check on the injured mare.

Fortunately it was a minor wound on the left rear fetlock, and should heal with little problem. Molly finally came out into the corral with the rifle and handed it to Bart, who took it with his right hand. "Let's have a look at that hand," she pleaded, and he showed it to her. "The glass is still in it. Let's go back to the house."

He followed her back up the small hill and into the house. She washed his hand carefully, then pulled the large shard of glass out and poured whiskey over the cut. She made him sit down at the table so that she could bandage the wound, and he finally asked her, "Are you alright?"

"Not really, but I will be. The mare's really good?"

"She's really good. But I think we've finished with the branding for the day."

"I agree. Joe can help me finish up tomorrow."

"I can help you finish up. Better yet, you can stay inside where it's safe and he can help me finish the branding."

She taped the bandage closed but didn't let go of his hand. "What, so they can take potshots at the two of you?"

"We'll be fine as long as they don't send somebody with better aim."

"This isn't your fight, you know."

"It is now," Bart told her. "Besides, I may have caused the escalation."

"Why do you say that?"

"I pushed on the marshal yesterday, let him know I suspected he might be in on whatever was goin' on around here."

"If that's true, then Conrad is in on whatever it is."

"They could be after your land. This probably is valuable cattle property."

"You've been through that before, haven't you?" She remembered what Bret had told her about Bart's wife.

"I . . . yeah, a long time ago. Delacroix told you about Caroline?"

"Your wife? A little, yes."

"That was different."

"Why?"

"It just was." His tone was that of "no more questions, please," and she decided the best thing to do was let it go.

"You sure you wanna stay here, on this land, no matter what?"

Something in the way he asked the question made her look at him. His eyes . . . there was something there, old, tired and angry, cautious and pained; a reflection of something from his past that he didn't want to remember but did anyway, perhaps? Something that deserved a truthful and honest answer, even if it was difficult to hear.

"I'm sure. The only way I'm leaving this ranch is in a pine box."


	9. The Coming Storm

Chapter 8 – The Coming Storm

Bret reached across the desk to shake hands with Colonel Raymond T. Jessup, commanding officer at Fort Yuma. "Have a seat, Mr. Delacroix. I understand you're working for Molly Hooper down in Yuma proper. What can I do for you?"

"Colonel, there's been some reaccurin' instances of what can best be described as harassment of Molly's ranch, and my partner and I are tryin' to find out why it continues to happen. You expressed some interest in her cross-breedin' efforts?"

"Quite a bit of interest, actually. The army has been looking for something to give us an advantage over the Indians – any kind of an advantage. I can see the long-term potential for what Miss Hooper is trying to produce – a horse with the stamina of the mustang but the speed and tolerance of the Arabian. Especially out here in the extreme heat that we endure. How are her endeavors going?"

"They seemed to be movin' along fine until a short while ago. Has anything changed in the fort's cattle or supply agreements recently?"

Colonel Jessup shook his head. "Not recently. We asked all three of the livestock suppliers to increase their deliveries to us, but that's been rather slow going, I'm afraid."

"Have they given you a reason for that?"

"Their herds aren't big enough at the present time, according to one of the ranchers. They need more land to support the increased herds, and they're having trouble obtaining it. Has someone been after Miss Hooper's ranch?"

Bret's face was grim as he nodded in answer to the colonel's question. "We kinda figured that's what all this was about. Someone tried to buy it, unsuccessfully; now they're tryin' to run her off it. Any information you can give me about the three ranchers the army's got agreements with?"

"You must know that's confidential information, Mr. Delacroix. I can tell you this – Jeremiah Bircken seems to be the driving force behind the group."

"Well, that's somethin'. Anybody here that can give me more answers?"

"Officially, no. Unofficially, try Sergeant McKinney. He's in charge of all livestock purchases made for this fort. Be sure and give Miss Hooper my best, would you, Mr. Delacroix? And tell her that I and the army are still interested in her efforts."

"Thanks, Colonel, I will. I appreciate the time." They shook hands again before Bret left.

His next stop was the Supply Sergeant's office, two buildings away. It was a much busier room than the Colonel's office, and he had to wait to see Sergeant McKinney. When he was the last one left, he introduced himself and explained to the Sergeant that Colonel Jessup had unofficially 'sent' him for more information.

"Not sure how helpful I can be, Delacroix. The requisitions are pretty well split between the three ranches. We get about fifty percent of our requirement from Bircken and the rest comes from Tesson and Wolcott. All three have been lagging behind our orders and we may have to go elsewhere for additional cattle. Bircken keeps complaining that he needs more land but doesn't seem to do anything about getting any."

"Who will you go to if you have to have more livestock? Have a ranch in mind?"

Sergeant McKinney gave a little laugh at that question. "Don't know right now. The Colonel's looked at some other ranchers, but most of them are in Braxton or Settler's Creek. There's nobody else big enough in Yuma. And if we go elsewhere for more cattle, Jessup's liable to cancel the agreements with the Yuma ranches and get everything from the new suppliers."

Sergeant McKinney's words rang in Bret's ears as he mounted his stallion. _'Jessup's liable to cancel the agreements with the Yuma ranches and get everything from the new suppliers.'_ That alone was enough reason for the three ranchers to step up their efforts to buy or steal Molly Hooper's ranch and the land she owned. As he headed away from the Sergeant's office, he was watched by a Lieutenant Archibald Fenton, who'd recently been put on Jeremiah Bircken's payroll. The gambler rode out of the fort as Fenton hurried to McKinney's office to find out just what the man had been there to discover.

XXXXXXXX

It was just past sunset when Bret arrived back at the Hooper ranch. He took Blackthorn to the barn and made sure the stallion had everything he required before heading for the house. Molly smiled when she saw who was at the door and opened it immediately. "You're back in one piece!" she exclaimed, which made little sense until he got into the room and saw the bandaged hand of his brother.

"A little brandin' mishap?" he chuckled before seeing Bart's dark expression.

"I wish," came the younger Maverick's quick reply.

Bret immediately got somber. "What happened?"

"Somebody tried to put a hole in me. Us. The mares. I ain't sure which. No, I didn't catch a bullet," he added hastily as Bret's expression changed. "They shattered a window in the barn and I ended up with a piece of glass. Molly was kind enough to play doctor for me."

"When did that happen?"

"When we were about halfway through with the brandin'. Sorry, Joe, we'll have to finish it tomorrow."

"What's this we, Miss Molly?" Bart asked. "I told you that Joe and I can finish it. I'd rather you weren't a target out there."

"Did any of the horses get hit?"

"Yeah, they nicked one a the mares. She'll be fine. And the barn window needs repair."

"That's easy enough to take care of. I agree with . . . Hancock, Molly. I don't think you should be out there. It'd be too easy to shoot you."

"You're both being too cautious. I'll be fine out there." She changed the subject. "Are you hungry? I've got supper for you."

"Yes, ma'am. I could stand some food. And then I'll tell you what I got from Colonel Jessup and his supply sergeant."

As soon as Bret finished his supper he went over both his conversations, and Molly and Bart paid rapt attention to every detail. When he'd finished, Bart spoke up again. "That's more than enough reason to sit out the rest of the brandin', Miss Hooper. Now do you understand why?"

She shook her head sadly. "I understand, but I don't like it one bit. Do you really think Jeremiah and his group are behind the attacks?"

"Everything I've heard points to it being them," Bret affirmed.

"Me, too," Bart answered. "Let's get the brandin' done tomorrow and I'll head for Braxton the day after. We need to get some hands down here to help with the herd."

"I agree. That alright with you, Molly?"

"Yes," the girl agreed. "I'll feel better once the mares are done. Then I can start planning for spring. It's not that far away. And it's going to be really busy for both the ranch and Galead. It will be his second full spring at stud and I don't want to overwork him." Both of the brothers laughed and exchanged looks. "What?" Molly asked.

"Just the idea . . . " Bret started.

"Of overworking a stud," Bart finished.

"That would be a problem worth having," Bret added, and both continued into fits of laughter.

"Men," was Molly's final comment on the subject.

XXXXXXXX

"Thought you were a better shot than that," Jeremiah chastised Nance.

"You told me I couldn't kill them. It throws off my aim."

"Did you hit anything?" Burns Wolcott questioned.

"One of the horses," Tesson answered.

"And got shot in return," Jeremiah pointed out.

"How was I supposed to know there was a gun in the dang barn? And then the foolhardy way that hotshot cowboy came runnin' out . . . He caught me by surprise."

"And put a bullet right through you, too," Burns pointed out.

"It's just my arm. It'll heal."

"That means you have to stay out of sight until it does, Nance," Burns pointed out.

"But . . . ," Tesson started.

"No. We can't afford to have anyone the wiser," Bircken reminded him.

"What about the next step?" Nance asked.

"Somebody else has to handle the next step," Conrad Sanders insisted. "What about Donny Worby? He's done 'enforcement' for you before."

"I suppose. When do we need him?"

"Soon, Nance, soon."


	10. Unexpected Reactions

Chapter 9 – Unexpected Reactions

They finished the branding the next day without too much trouble, considering Bart's injured hand. After that was done Molly and Bret rode into Yuma so she could order a new window for the barn, and he convinced her a late lunch was an excellent idea. They went to the cantina and ate something that Molly ordered, a local specialty she told him, and whatever it was turned out to be quite good. Then they walked down the street; Bret picked up a few small things in the general store, where they ran into Conrad Sanders.

"You're still here," Sanders commented to Bret, and the gambler smiled and nodded.

"Yep, that I am," he replied. "Took a nice little ride up to Fort Yuma and had a real interestin' conversation with Colonel Jessup."

"Oh?" Sanders asked. "And how is the Colonel?"

"Fine, except he's a little short on his cattle orders. You wouldn't know anything about that, would you Marshal?"

"Sorry, not a thing. I have nothing to do with any business that the fort does or doesn't conduct. You have any more problems out at your place, Miss Molly?"

Bret and Bart had both advised Molly to claim that nothing happened at the ranch. "No, Conrad, everything's been as quiet as could be."

"That's good," he answered without even blinking. "Well, I've got work to do. You two have a good time in town, ya hear?"

"We will, marshal. Thanks," Bret told Conrad, as he took hold of Molly's elbow and steered her out the door.

"What was that?" she asked when they got far enough away from the general store to not be overheard.

"That, my dear Molly, was Liar's Poker. And the marshal blinked."

"Huh?" the girl asked, not understanding what the gambler meant.

"He probably already knew that I'd been to see the Colonel, and he expected you to complain about the shooting."

"And that means what?"

"That he's involved. Hancock was right."

"And you could tell all that how?"

"By his poker face. He doesn't have a very good one."

"Oh." They rode out of town, back towards the ranch, and it was a few minutes before either of them said anything. "Joe."

"Hmmmm?"

"Have you ever thought about settling down?"

"You mean stayin' in one place?"

"Uh-huh."

"Once. But it didn't work out."

"Why not?" Molly was more than curious.

' _How honest should I be?'_ he wondered, then decided he'd told enough lies by using different names. "She fell in love with somebody else."

"Oh." Another few minutes of silence, then "What about Hancock? Aside from his marriage, I mean."

"He's come closer than I have. A couple times, as a matter of fact. Somethin' always seems to stop him."

"Why do you think that is?"

"We're drifters, Molly. The thought of havin' to stay in one place – it scares us."

"Do you ever want to settle down?"

"Someday, sure. Just not now. How far's the ranch from here?"

"Not far. Why?"

He'd been dying to find out just how fast Blackthorn was, as opposed to Galead. "Last one there cooks supper," he challenged her and kicked his stallion into gear. She yelped and nudged her Arabian, and he sprang into action. One stallion finished almost a full length ahead of the other, and Bret had his answer. They were both laughing as he pulled up behind her at the barn. "I guess it's beans for supper," he quipped, and she dismounted and handed him the reins.

"You put the boys up for the night and I'll cook," she offered, and he nodded, relieved. The house was dark but the bunkhouse had a light on, and she stopped there on her way inside. "Hancock!" she yelled as she stuck her head in the door, and was startled to find him asleep in a bunk.

"You're back," he remarked as he raised his head and yawned. "Sorry, I was reading and fell asleep. I didn't sleep real well last night."

"Come up to the house, I'll fix supper."

"Do you mind? I'd rather skip it and stay here."

"Are you sure?" Molly asked. "You must be hungry by now."

"Not really," Bart answered. "I'd just as soon go back to sleep."

"Alright, if that's what you want. Good-night."

"Night," he replied, and laid his head back down, closing his eyes as he did so.

She shut the door quietly and turned towards the house. She was halfway there when Bret ran up behind her.

"No luck with Jamie?"

"I woke him up. He said he'd rather skip supper. Does he do that much?"

"You see how thin he is. Never had much interest in food, that's all. And I heard him last night; he must be in one of his 'not sleepin' spells. He does that periodically. If we're sharin' a hotel room and we can get a front corner, he's happy. Likes to sit in the dark and watch out the window."

"That's odd. Is there some reason he can't sleep?"

"I don't know. He's been like that for a long time." _'Ever since Travis Cole locked him in the cell overnight in Montana,_ ' he thought, but of course didn't tell Molly that. They went into the house and Molly directed Bret to the settee.

"Sit down. I'll get us something to eat."

"Yes, ma'am. You want some help?"

"Do you want coffee or tea?"

"Coffee," Bret told her.

"Then I could use some help. Here, take this to the table." She handed him a plate with some slices of bread she'd just cut and cooked bacon from this morning. Molly swung around with the coffee pot in one hand and two cups in the other. "Hancock must have made coffee before he went back to the bunkhouse and fell asleep. This is still hot."

She quickly fixed sandwiches from the bread and bacon, along with some tomatoes she'd brought in earlier in the day. They were hungry and nothing had ever tasted quite so good. Bret picked up the coffee pot and poured cups for both of them; they ate in silence. When they were finished he picked up the plates and put them in the wash tub, then took his coffee cup and Molly's and carried them out to the porch. He set them down on the small table she kept out there, then stepped past her and sat down in the far rocker.

He pulled out a cigar, the first one he'd smoked for a while, and lit it, then took a long draw on the stogie. "What are you thinking about?" Molly asked him, not quite expecting the answer she got.

"About kissin' you."

She picked up her coffee cup and took a drink, then set it back down on the table. "Just thinking about it?"

"Wonderin' how hard you'd slap me if I did."

"Maybe I wouldn't slap you at all."

"Just maybe?"

She smiled in the moonlight. "Guess you're gonna have to take a chance and find out." He blew out smoke, tossing the rest of the cigar into the dirt. He leaned over then and did just that; it was a sweet, slow, tender kiss, not at all what she expected from him. It stirred something inside her she hadn't felt in a long time. "What would Hancock think about this?" she asked.

"Who cares?" he replied, and kissed her again.


	11. The Beat Down

Chapter 10 – The Beat Down

"Wish me luck," Bart told Molly and Bret as he checked the cinch one more time on Noble's saddle.

"You don't need luck," Bret answered. "Just be your charmin' self."

"Will do," Bart agreed as he mounted the gelding. In a few seconds he was gone, headed north up the road towards Braxton and Settler's Creek.

"Come in and I'll fix breakfast. Which I would have done before if Hancock had wanted any."

Bret shook his head. "He'll eat when he gets hungry. Right now he's only got one thing on his mind, and that's findin' us some men for a crew. Otherwise we're gonna be mighty tired hombres."

Molly sighed. "Still, God only knows what he ate yesterday, no supper last night, and nothing but coffee this morning. How does he keep going like that?"

"I gave up tryin' to figure out Hancock's eatin' habits a long time ago. But I am starved, Miss Molly."

Bret gave her a big grin and Molly laughed. "I think you were born hungry," she told him.

"That woulda been a question for my momma," he told her. "Besides, I'm gonna fix that fence we ain't gotten to yet. Man needs a big breakfast before he starts that."

"Fine. I'll go tell the cook and she can get started," Molly answered him as they walked inside. "You can sit at the table and keep me company. Or you can help."

"I'm afraid my cookin' skills are limited to beans, bacon, rabbits, and coffee."

"No eggs?"

"Forgot eggs. Yeah, I can make those, too."

Molly chuckled. "Just enough to keep a man alive."

"That's right. And don't you forget it."

XXXXXXXX

"He headed north this morning," the lookout Jeremiah had posted on the Hooper ranch reported.

"And it's the one Conrad wanted you to watch?"

"Same fella. Tall, thin, rides a buckskin gelding. You want me to tell Nance or go straight to Donny?"

Jeremiah gave it careful consideration before answering. "Go to Donny. I don't want Nance to start changin' orders at the last minute. Remind him – no killin'. No matter what Tesson may or may not have told him. We're gonna do this my way, whether it takes longer or not."

"You're the boss," the cowboy reiterated. "I'll be back after I see Donny."

"Good. Let me know when it's been handled."

XXXXXXXX

It took a while to get to Braxton, and the men he encountered there didn't seem to be any more inclined to take a job at the ranch than they had in Yuma. He spent most of the morning there, in the saloons, cafés, stores and businesses before finally giving up and riding on to Settler's Creek.

Settler's Creek was smaller and a whole lot more interested in what he had to offer, and by late afternoon he had four men that were more than willing to ride down to the Hooper ranch, with the possibility of two more. He left instructions and made arrangements for everybody to show up on Monday morning and finally got himself something to eat at the little diner next to the sheriff's office. Everybody seemed friendly enough, and there was no talk of or gossip about 'curses' or anything similar. Only one man had heard of the trouble Molly was having and he didn't seem too worried about taking a job at the ranch.

It was dusk by the time Bart pointed Noble back towards Yuma and Molly's place, and his attention was somewhere other than the large stand of boulders and Mesquite trees he was passing. He was totally unprepared for any kind of attack when it came, and he certainly didn't expect to find a lasso yanking him off the back of his horse. He crashed to the ground hard and Noble neighed and reared before prancing sideways and appearing to look around for his missing rider.

As Bart tried to scramble to his feet and escape the rope the man on the other end gave it a good yank and upended the gambler once again, and this time he hit his head on one of the smaller rocks and lost consciousness. Donny Worby and the friend he'd brought along to help took their time, beating and kicking the comatose gambler until they were tired and bored. Then, for good measure, they left him hog-tied, gagged, and a bloody mess, running Noble off in the process.

The gelding made straight for the Hooper ranch, and by the time he got there it was pitch black outside. Bret had just joined Molly in the house for supper and assumed, when they heard Noble whinny, that Bart was finally back from his sojourn. When no one knocked on the front door and the gelding whinnied again, both of them went to see what was causing the delay. The horse was there, but no Brother Bart. Noble was agitated and sweaty, and Bret came to the only reasonable conclusion – Bart was somewhere hurt.

"I'll hitch the wagon," Bret yelled back at the girl as he practically leaped off the porch and went running towards the barn. In less time than she thought possible the wagon came roaring out of the barn, and he stopped at the porch to turn the reins over to her. "I'm takin' Noble," he called and mounted the gelding. For once there was no fight put up by Bart's horse. Bret gave him his head and Noble went back the way he'd just come, with Molly and the wagon following behind.

Bret simply couldn't control the animal, so he kept the reins in his hand and held on tight. Several miles north Noble pulled up and crab-stepped his way up to the stand of trees. Bret saw the form on the ground next to the rocks, even in the dark, and slid down from the gelding. "Bart!" he gasped, the name slipping out before he gave a thought to Molly. Between the distance she was behind him and the noise the wagon made, she didn't hear the panicked utterance.

He removed the gag and untied the rope binding Bart's hands and feet, but there was no response from the body on the ground. Just as Molly arrived with the wagon, Bret picked his unconscious brother up and placed him gently in the wagon bed. Suddenly he thought of something and reached in Bart's coat pocket. His wallet was there, but everything that had been in it was gone. Was this just a robbery gone wrong?

Noble was standing stock still and offered no resistance when Bret grabbed his reins and led him to the back, where the horse was secured for the trip to the ranch. "You drive," Bret instructed the girl and climbed into the wagon bed with his brother.

Bret used his handkerchief to try and wipe some of the blood from Bart's nose and mouth, but the younger man showed no sign of consciousness. "Who did this to you, son?" he asked tenderly, not expecting any kind of an answer. Noble snorted and Bret stared at the gelding with a new-found respect. "You did good, Noble," he told the horse, who snorted again as if in acknowledgment.

It seemed to take an eternity to return to the ranch, and when they did Molly pulled up in front of the house. "Take him inside – there's a bedroom in the right corner." She hurriedly went to the kitchen and returned with a bowl of water and clean towels. Bret carried his brother into the spare room and laid him on the bed. "Who would do this?" she asked when she got into the room.

"I don't know, but I'm sure as hell gonna find out," Bret growled. Finally, there was a soft moan from Bart and Bret was instantly at his side, while Molly tried to finish the job Bret had attempted in the wagon. The younger of the two men had a black eye and a nasty purple bruise on his right cheek; his lip was split and swollen. It was obvious someone had beaten him, and from the look of his clothes the punishment wasn't confined to his face. Bret and Molly, working together, got his jacket off, and then his shirt, and the girl was appalled by the size and multitude of the scars on his body.

"Is this from the war?" she asked in horror.

"No, he's been through a lot."

"Too much for one man." She touched his ribs, which were rapidly discoloring, and he gasped.

"Are they broken again?" Bret questioned.

"I can't tell," Molly answered.

Very quietly from the bed they heard, "Don't think so." His eyes remained closed, but it was clear he was at least partially conscious. "Get . . . get my boots."

Bret removed his brother's boots as requested, then returned to the head of the bed. "Better?" he asked.

"Thanks," came the whispered reply.

"Who was it? Who did this?"

"Don't know. Never saw 'em."

"Can you open your eyes?" Molly asked.

"No."

"Do you want me to go get the doctor?" Bret asked.

"No."

"Anything else bad?"

"Left arm." Molly felt around for a moment and when she touched his forearm, right below the elbow, his eyes flew open and he let out a howl. "Found it."

Molly poked and prodded as gently as she could, and both she and the patient came to the same conclusion – the bone wasn't broken. "I can wrap your arm, and your ribs," she told Bart, "but that's about the best I can do. I'm not sure Doc Bradley could do much more."

"Do . . . do what . . . you can. I'll be alright." He looked up at Bret. "How bad . . . is it?"

"You've looked prettier. Can you tell me what you remember?"

"Ridin' back. Got near the stand . . . Mesquite trees. Lassoed, like a dang . . . steer. Got pulled down and hit . . . the rocks. That's all."

"No idea of who it was?"

"No. I . . . I think . . . ouch . . . there were two of 'em."

Molly looked at Bret. "Can you help me sit him up?"

"I can. On three – one, two, three." Bret pulled his brother upright and Bart gritted his teeth against the pain.

"You get on his other side and we can do this easier," Molly told Bret, who then moved to the other side of the bed. They worked the wrap back and forth several times until Bart felt like a Thanksgiving turkey. The girl wrapped his forearm in a similar fashion and was finally ready to put his shirt back on. Again she needed Bret's help but they got him dressed at last. Bart looked from one to the other.

"Thanks. You find Noble?"

Bret chuckled just a little. "That horse of yours is somethin' else. He came back here to get us, and I rode him back to you."

"You? On Noble?"

"I know. And he didn't fuss, just took us straight to ya. Reminds me, I gotta go take care of him and the wagon. I'll be back in a bit. You stay put." He pointed at his brother, who nodded slightly in answer.

"Yes, sir."

"Do you want anything?" Molly asked once Bret had gone back outside. "I have some coffee. Or I can fix you something to eat."

"Coffee, please. Not really hungry."

She looked at him skeptically. "Did you eat anything today?"

"Yes, momma." He started to try and get out of bed and she put her hand on his chest. "Where do you think you're going?"

"Up."

"No, sir. You sleep here tonight. You're not moving around with those ribs."

"But – "

"But nothing. Sit still. I'll go get you some coffee." Before she pulled her hand away, he grabbed her wrist.

"Thanks, Molly."

"For what? If it wasn't for me, you wouldn't be hurt. I can at least take care of you." She put two pillows behind him, so he could remain sitting up, and went to the kitchen for the coffee. Bret returned from feeding and bedding down the horses and walked into the kitchen to pour himself a cup of the black liquid. "He should stay here tonight, in case he needs anything," she told his brother.

"I'm stayin' here, too, in case anybody gets any bright ideas."

"Such as?"

"Comin' after you."

"Where are you gonna sleep?" the girl asked.

"In a chair in his room." Before she could say anything, he put his hand up. "I've done it before. Plenty of times. He's done it for me, too. I'll be fine."

"If you say so. Then what?"

"We'll see about the rest tomorrow. This was either a random robbery or it was meant to send a message. There'll be no answers tonight. Come on, let's get him that coffee."


	12. Biscuits and Gravy

Chapter 11 – Biscuits and Gravy

Twice Bret woke up and got water for his brother; once he had to wake Bart from some kind of a dream or nightmare. Just as promised he slept in two chairs; sitting in one with his legs propped up on the other. When every part of his body was stiff and sore he finally woke up to find Bart lying in bed watching him. Bret knew that no matter how bad he hurt from the night in the chairs, Bart felt worse.

"How are ya this mornin'?" the older brother asked the younger one.

"Is there a word for 'worse than miserable'?" Bart shot back.

"That good, huh? How much money did ya have on ya yesterday?"

"I ain't sure. Not all of it, maybe three, four hundred dollars. Is it gone?"

"Yeah, it's gone," Bret answered. "Any chance this coulda been a hold-up?"

"Maybe. But an awful strange one. Why would you beat somebody that was easy pickin's?"

"It seems trivial now, but how'd you do for ranch hands?"

"Nothin' from Braxton; at least four comin' Monday from Settler's Creek. Maybe six. But four for certain."

"Good job, son. See, I told ya, just be your charmin' self."

"Can you help me sit up?"

"I can do that," Bret assured his brother, and with a minimum of pain he did just that. "Molly was pretty shook up when she saw your scars. Wanted to know if they happened in the war."

"Ha. What'd you tell her?"

"The truth. That you've been through a lot."

"She's a real fine girl, Bret."

"Mmmhmmm."

"The kinda girl you settle down with."

"Mmmhmmm."

"Is that all you got to say?"

"Yep."

"So you're not interested."

Bret sat straight and looked at Bart in the morning light. His eye and cheek were a bright purple hue, and another dark spot had formed on his jaw. Almost the whole lower half of his face was swollen, and Bret could see bruises on his chest through the first two open buttons of his shirt. He had to be in pain, and his brother felt sorry for the misery that Bart was once again being subjected to. He didn't feel bad enough to lie to him. "I didn't say I wasn't interested."

"But not 'settle-down' interested."

"I'm not 'settle-down' interested in anyone. What is this, anyway? You just got the crap beat outta you yesterday; you want me to finish the job they started?"

"Whoa, brother, slow down. I'm just askin'."

Molly picked that moment to walk in carrying two full coffee cups. "Was that discord? Between you two?"

"Naw, nothin' serious," Bret told her as he accepted one of the cups. The other was about three-quarters full and easier for Bart to hold.

"Ouch," was his singular comment when he took the cup with his left hand. After just a moment he switched the weight to his right hand before drinking from it. "Thanks."

"I'm making eggs, ham and biscuits. I expect both of you to eat." She turned her gaze to Bart. "BOTH of you."

"Yes, ma'am," Bart answered meekly through swollen lips. "Are you makin' gravy?"

"For the biscuits? Of course. I have some aspirin that Doc Bradley left out here. Shall I bring you one?"

"No. I can't take 'em."

"Can't take them?"

"He's got an allergy to 'em," Bret explained as Bart swallowed coffee. "We almost . . . well, let's just say the way we found out wasn't good."

"Alright. Glad I asked before I brought it. I'll bring breakfast in when it's ready."

"Call me and I'll come help," Bret told her.

"You sure?" Bart asked after Molly left.

XXXXXXXX

Conrad was the first one there, this time at Nance's house. He wanted to make sure he got the full story about the 'encounter.' He knew better than to just walk into Nance Tesson's house without knocking, so he waited patiently for the front door to be answered. Eventually, Nance himself came. "Where's Manuela?" the marshal asked.

"Fixin' coffee," Nance answered. "Come in."

Sanders followed the big man back into his private office and took a chair. Manuela came bustling in with a coffee pot and six cups. She poured one each for Conrad and Nance, and then hurried back to the front door when the next man knocked.

The marshal raised an eyebrow. "Six cups?" he asked.

"Donny Worby," Nance stated petulantly. "Straight from the horse's mouth."

Burns was the next one through the door. "Conrad. Nance. Little chilly out there this mornin'."

Nance pulled a bottle out of the desk. "I can fix that, Burns."

"Sounds good to me," Wolcott answered as he poured coffee but left room for the brandy. He picked up the bottle Nance had set down and poured some into his cup just as there was another knock on the door. This time voices could be heard. Jeremiah and Branch came blustering into the room and filled the last two chairs. Donny would have to stand.

"How's the arm, Nance?" That came from Jeremiah.

"Gettin' better. Get your coffee so we can begin."

There was a knock on the office door, and Nance practically yelled, "Come in."

Donny Worby swaggered in and headed right for a coffee cup. He skipped the coffee, however, and poured straight brandy. "Boss?" he asked.

Worby wasn't a tall man, but he looked like he was made entirely of iron. Solid and strong, with a cruel expression permanently etched on his face, he was the kind of man you'd rather not have angry with you.

"Quiet down," Nance ordered the group, then looked at Donny. "Give us the story, Mr. Worby."

"Not much to tell. I caught him when it was almost dark, right where that stand of Mesquite trees meets the rock formation. Lassoed him like a steer, pulled him right off that big buckskin. He won't be walkin' around so cocky for a while. Did what you said, boss, tried not to break nothin'. Just gave him a real beatin'. Ran the gelding off, left him hog-tied on the road. Somebody musta come got him; he weren't there this mornin'."

"That's all, Donny, you can go. And take your cup with you."

"Aye, boss."

Once the enforcer was gone Nance himself asked a question. "What next?"

Jeremiah spoke up. "I'm gonna wait two days, then make Molly Hooper another offer."

"And if she doesn't accept it?" Burns asked.

"Then we take the next step. And get rid of her cowboys."

"I get to shoot 'em?" Nance asked, almost beside himself with anticipation. He'd been waiting to put a bullet in the one that had shot him.

"Yes, Nance, you'll get to extract your own personal revenge."

"Huh?"

"You get to shoot 'em."


	13. Deadly Game

Chapter 12 – Deadly Game

Bret stayed with Bart another night before Molly would even entertain the thought of the injured man returning to the bunkhouse. Even when Bart made his way gingerly back there, Bret wanted to stay on Molly's settee one more time. She insisted Bret return with Bart so that he wouldn't be unattended, and maintained she would be perfectly safe.

She was, but only because Bircken had yet to make his final pitch before the killing started. Jeremiah showed up at her door early the next morning, just as the two gamblers were making their way to the house, and feigned surprise at Bart's condition. "Was it robbery?" he asked innocently.

"Not sure," Bret answered skeptically. "Has there been much of that around here?"

"Not much, no," Jeremiah answered honestly, "but you just never know when things will change, do you? There's so many new people in the valley . . . " he stared directly at the two of them. "Well, I don't want to keep you from your work."

"Oh, you're not," Bart answered as they followed him to the front door.

' _I see what Conrad means about him bein' the troublemaker,'_ Bircken though to himself. "Good, good," he finished as he knocked on the door.

When Molly reached the door she was laughing. "Didn't I tell you two . . . oh, it's you, Jeremiah. Come in."

Bircken walked in, followed closely by Bret and Bart. "Are you following me?" he asked them.

"Nope," Bret answered. "Just tryin' to get breakfast."

"Come in, boys, it's almost ready. What can I do for you, Jeremiah?"

"I'd like to discuss some business with you, Molly. Privately."

"Anything you want to talk to me about can be discussed in front of Hancock and Delacroix."

"Really? Well, alright. You know that we have a consortium of sorts for the production and sale of cattle to the army at Fort Yuma. We've discussed your property before. In light of all the trouble you've been havin' recently, I thought you might be willin' to reconsider your dismissal of our offer. We're prepared to offer you fifteen percent more than we did the last time."

Molly wanted to throw something at Jeremiah; instead she offered him coffee. He declined as she poured some for Bret and Bart, who were sitting with them at the kitchen table. She cleared her throat and decided exactly how she wanted to word her refusal. "I appreciate your offer, Jeremiah, but I really have no reason to sell. Jamie and Joe have taken over running the ranch and the day-to-day operations of the place so that I can concentrate entirely on the cross-breeding program. I have no intention of selling."

Bircken sat very still and watched Molly as she smiled. "You're absolutely sure you won't sell your land?"

"Absolutely certain. Now if you don't mind, I have two hungry men waiting to be fed."

"I hope you don't come to regret that decision, Miss Hooper." Jeremiah got up from the table, tipped his hat and walked back out the way he'd come in. Bret and Bart exchanged glances.

"It was a warning," Bret stated firmly.

"Without any doubt," Bart added. "Maybe they'll pick on you the next time. Be careful, Joe."

"You, too," Bret replied.

"Are you sure there'll be a next time?" Molly asked plaintively.

Bret's head nodded; Bart said, "Yeah."

"How soon?"

"That's the question, isn't it?"

XXXXXXXX

"I got nowhere with her, Conrad. Those two have convinced her not to sell."

"I'm tellin' ya, it's that Hancock. The other one seems to be more rational about things."

"I think they both gotta go."

"You know that means all-out war," Sanders reminded him.

"What else are we supposed to do?"

"What if she had no stud for breedin'?"

"What are you gonna do, steal the horse?"

The marshal thought for a minute or two. "What if he came up lame? She wouldn't breed a lame stallion, would she?"

"And just how are you gonna do that?"

"I've got an idea. Are you willin' to let me try it?"

"Nance will have a fit. He wants to kill 'em all right now."

The marshal asked a pointed question – "Who's in charge here, Jeremiah, you or Nance Tesson?"

"Sometimes I wonder, Conrad. If you think it'll work, go ahead and try."

"It's worth a chance, isn't it, Jeremiah?"

"Yes, it's worth a chance. Go ahead."

XXXXXXXX

Later that week someone got into the corral and ran off half a dozen of the mares. When Bret discovered the horses gone the next morning he rounded up Bart and Molly and the three of them went looking for the missing mares. They'd gone quite a distance from the ranch, headed in the direction of Yuma, when Molly suddenly pulled Galead to a halt. Bart rode up behind her just as she hopped off the stallion. "What's wrong?"

She put the horse's foot back down as he asked the question. "Have you got a knife or anything I can use? He's got a rock wedged between his hoof and the shoe and it has to come out before he goes any further."

"No, nothing. Hey, Joe! Come on back here!"

Bret came riding over. "What happened?"

"Galead's picked up a rock and it's wedged where I can't get it out," Molly explained. "Have you got anything we can use?"

Just as Bret got down from his horse a shot sailed past the three riders. He grabbed Molly and pulled her behind the rocks while Bart scrambled down from Noble and joined them. "I guess the mares didn't get loose by accident, did they?" Bret asked as another shot rang out. Whoever was shooting was aiming in their general vicinity, but seemed to be making no attempt to hit any of them.

"No, I have nothing. We're not that far from Yuma; let me take a look at the hoof." Bret appeared to be more concerned with the hoof than the gunshots. After he had examined the horse he turned to Bart. "Somebody's got to go to the livery and get one a those hooks they use to get it out."

"I'll go," Bart answered quickly.

"I don't think you oughta ride all that far, there and back. Not with those ribs still botherin' you. I'll go to town and get it. You stay here and take care of Molly. I'll be back as fast as I can."

Bart nodded and Bret mounted Blackthorn. "Give me some cover, would ya?" he called down to his brother as the horse took off at a gallop. Bart pulled his Colt and fired several shots in the general direction the first gunfire had come from, and several blasts were returned but again, nothing close enough to worry about. Bart kept Molly behind the cover the rocks provided, and they sat and waited for Bret to return. After a few minutes Molly started asking Bart questions about Delacroix, and they finally got to the point of the whole conversation.

"Hancock?"

He should have been used to the sound of the name by this time. The girl had been calling him that for weeks, but he still had to remind himself to respond when he heard it. "Hmmm?"

"Do you think he can get it?"

"I don't know, Molly. Maybe, maybe not. We'll just have to wait and see when he gets back."

"How long have you known Delacroix?"

It took no time to answer that question. "All my life."

"Really? All your life?"

"Yeah. He was already there when I was born."

She had to give that a moment's thought. "That's a long time."

"Not as long as you might think." He pulled the spyglass open and watched the road from town. Still no sign of his brother. What was causing the delay?

"Hancock?"

"What now?"

"Does he have a girl?"

"A what?"

"A girl. You know, a wife, a fiancé, a girlfriend, anybody?"

"Nope. At least he didn't when we got here."

He pulled the spyglass open again. This time he saw something, far away at the base of the Sierra Estrella Mountains. Even with the spyglass he had to watch the object move until it got close enough to see clearly. It was the man he'd been waiting for, the one they were counting on to get what they needed and bring it back. That didn't answer anything, of course, just that he was on the way back. And even if he got it, were they going to be able to make it work?

He hoped so. For everybody's sake, but mostly their own. Because if this didn't work, it was all going to be over before it really had a chance to get started. Deep down inside both of the brothers knew that the next step in this rapidly escalating dangerous game they were playing would be death – for somebody.


	14. In Dreams

Chapter 13 – In Dreams

It took almost an hour to work the rock out of the spot it was wedged into without damaging Galead's hoof, but Bret came up smiling and sweaty at long last. "That was no accident," he pronounced, and both Bart and Molly looked at him with concern.

"No?" Molly asked as he shook his head.

"No," Bret replied. He looked at his brother. "They've moved on to the next phase."

"Sure seems that way. Ya know where they're goin' next, don't ya?"

"What are you two talking about?" Molly's face wore a puzzled expression.

Bret didn't want to talk about it while they were out in the open. "Molly, you ride Blackthorn. I'll walk Galead back. I think we should take him there good and slow, without any additional weight. You don't want to damage that hoof."

"Can Blackthorn hold both of us?" the girl asked.

"Sure," Bret answered. "You take the saddle, I'll ride behind."

"Give me Galead's reins," Bart volunteered. "I'll walk him nice and easy."

Molly mounted Bret's stallion and he swung up behind her, after handing the reins of the Arabian to his brother.

"Oh!" Molly exclaimed, twisting her head back towards Bret. "It was deliberate, wasn't it? The stone in the shoe?"

"I'm sure of it," he answered her. "The way it was wedged in there, that took some doin'."

"To deliberately lame him?"

"Yeah. Runnin' the mares off, so we'd have to go after 'em. Get us out where you'd be forced to ride him until he pulled up."

"My poor boy! All for some land?"

Bret nodded. "All for some land. You won't sell any other way, but if you haven't got a stud for the cross-breedin' . . . "

"Jeremiah?"

"Or one of his group. It's been hard to deal with, Molly, but it's gonna get worse. They haven't got too many ways to get your land left to 'em."

Bart had ridden up slowly with Galead trailing behind. The Arabian was walking without any trace of a limp so far. "What he's tryin' to tell you, Molly, is that the next time somebody starts shootin' at one or the other of us, they won't be shootin' to miss."

"Me, I understand. But why would they shoot at the two of you?"

"It's our fault," Bret responded.

"Your fault? How, pray tell?"

"That's easy enough," Bart explained. "You were down to your last set of Vaqueros until we came along. We've helped fix up the place, brand the mares, an get you back on your feet. If it wasn't for us you might have given up an sold already."

"So that's what the beating was about?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"I'm so sorry, Hancock." There was sadness and regret in Molly's voice.

"Don't you do that, Miss Molly. Don't you apologize for somethin' you had no hand in. We're the ones took the job, you done nothin' wrong."

"But if you hadn't – "

Bret interrupted. He knew what Bart was thinking. "We'd have gotten into trouble somewhere else. Sometimes it just seems to follow us around."

"Let's just get you an the horse back home," Bart finished. "Then we can come back out lookin' for the mares."

Molly shook her head vehemently. "I'll ride one of the mares. If you're coming back out to search, then so am I."

They both started at the same time. "I don't – "

"I'm not – "

"It doesn't matter what either of you want. It's my ranch, and they're my mares. I'm coming back out with you."

"Yes, ma'am."

XXXXXXXX

It was later in the day by the time they got back to the ranch and Bret was able to help repair the shoe, a trade he'd learned the hard way long ago in a mining camp in Chloride, Arizona. It was one of the few times in their lives the brothers had actually been estranged, and it was the only way Bret could make enough money to survive and get back on his feet. "It's temporary, at best," Bret explained, "but it will hold him until we can get him into Yuma and get it fixed proper."

"How about some lunch before we go back out?" Molly questioned.

"Sure, sounds good to me," Bret replied. As soon as Molly was headed for the house Bret turned to his brother. "You ready to go?"

"I figured you had that in mind. I'm as ready as I'll ever be."

In less than five minutes they were mounted and gone. "She's gonna be mad, ya know," Bart told Bret.

"I know, but at least she'll be safe while we find the horses."

Several hours later they returned with all the missing mares. Bart was right, Molly was angry – but at the same time she couldn't stay angry at them for wanting to protect her. "You left without me," she scolded after closing the gate to the corral once the horses were inside.

"Yes, ma'am, and we'd do it again if we had to. It was for your own protection." Bart saw the quick glance that was exchanged between his brother and the ranch owner, and realized he'd been wrong when he assumed nothing had happened between them. Something important was in that glance, and he knew that whatever he'd begun to feel for Molly would be better off forgotten.

"You found all of them?"

"We did."

"And you must be starving."

Both brothers laughed. "That would come pretty close to explainin' this feelin', yes, ma'am. Right close." Even Bart had to admit saying they were starving was accurate.

"Then come on inside and get supper," Molly told them. "And don't ever run off and leave without me again."

"Yes, ma'am," both answered at the same time.

Supper was quiet, until Molly asked, "Who are they most likely to go after first?"

The Maverick 'look' was exchanged between the two men. "One or both of us," Bret answered. "In the hopes that if we're gone, you'll give in and accept their offer."

"I'd say 'be careful' but I'm sure you already know that."

They finished the meal in silence, and as soon as Bart was done with his coffee he forced a yawn. "Listen, I'm really worn out and my ribs are still botherin' me. If you two don't mind, I'm gonna turn in for the night."

Bret and Molly both shook their heads, and Bret added, "Watch out goin' to the bunkhouse."

"I will, Brother - " and Bart caught himself before he said 'Bret.' "I'll see y'all in the mornin'."

"Good-night, Hancock," came from the girl.

"Catch you in the mornin', son," Bret told Bart as he headed for the door.

This time, Molly picked up on the familiarity. "You've called him that before. Why? You sure aren't old enough to be his father."

"I practically raised him," Bret answered with little hesitation.

"You raised him? But you've got different names."

"My parents were . . . not around. His momma died young and his pappy had to work for a livin'. So while I was raisin' me, I was raisin' him, too. Sometimes, now that we're growed, I call him son. Sometimes he calls me Pappy. It's a fair trade."

"You two have the strangest relationship I've ever seen."

Bret shook his head. "Nope, not strange at all. I'd die for him – or kill to protect him. He'd do the same for me."

"Like brothers."

"Yes, ma'am, just like brothers."

"I wonder what it would be like to have someone feel that way about me?" Molly asked wistfully.

"As long as you don't ask it to be me," Bret answered while they were taking the dishes to the wash basin. She laughed and looked up at him, and he bent slightly and kissed her. It was a gentle kiss, almost tentative, and then it was more than that, and he folded her into his arms and kissed her like he meant it. When he pulled away from her, at last, it was with an apology. "I'm sorry, Molly, I think I should go."

"Don't leave, Joe. Stay."

He debated for half a second. It was her calling him 'Joe' that finally made up his mind. He hadn't even told her his real name; he couldn't stay and take advantage of her like that. "For both our sakes," he told her, and when he moved away she didn't try to stop him.

He went back to the bunkhouse, where Bart was already asleep. "Goodnight, little brother," he whispered and, after getting undressed, climbed into the bed and pulled the covers up. That night he dreamt of Mary Alice Tompkins, the first girl he'd ever been in love with, and had tried so unsuccessfully to marry when he was all of fifteen years old. His dreams changed nothing.


	15. Till the End

Chapter 14 – Till the End

On Monday the ranch hands that Bart hired in Settler's Creek moved into the bunkhouse and started work, which allowed Bret and Molly to leave the spread and take Galead into Yuma to be re-shod. They ate at the Cantina and were just finishing lunch when the Marshal appeared. "Delacroix, Molly," he greeted them as he went straight to the bar and got a cup of coffee. On his way back out he stopped at their table. "How's everything at the ranch, Molly?"

"Just fine, Conrad. Gearing up for the spring breeding to start."

"You stickin' around for that, Delacroix?" Sanders queried, trying to find out if anything had happened to Molly's stud without tipping his hand. Surely the horse should have come up lame by this time. Since Galead was still at the livery and Sanders had no idea why they were in town, the marshal had to do something to prompt a conversation, hoping to get some answers.

"Sure, Marshal," Bret answered, not inclined to elaborate.

"So, everything's alright out there? No more problems?"

Molly shook her head. "Not a thing to report, Conrad."

"Aha. Well, good luck with everything."

After Sanders was gone Bret grinned. "A little curious, wasn't he?"

"Do you think he . . . could he do that to a poor defenseless creature?"

"Molly, where money and greed's involved, some men could do anything. We need to be extra careful now that he thinks nothin's happened. I don't wanna see anybody else get hurt like Hancock."

"Do you really think they'll try . . . what we talked about?" She still had trouble believing that men she knew might try to kill any of them just to get more land.

"I do," Bret nodded. "Hancock agrees with me. I don't want ya goin' anywhere without one of us with ya. Agreed?"

The girl sighed. It broke her heart, but she knew he was right. "Agreed. How long do you think this will continue?"

Should he be honest with her? Would the truth terrify her? Or put steel in her backbone? That was more likely, he decided. "Until we're dead – or they are."

XXXXXXXX

It was not a happy group that met again at Jeremiah Bircken's ranch. Arguing broke out between Nance and Burns almost as soon as the latter arrived, and another voice was added to the mix when Branch Haven got there soon after. Jeremiah sat and listened to the sides argue back and forth; he had no intention of saying anything until Conrad Sanders arrived. They'd been waiting almost an hour when the marshal finally got there.

"Sorry for bein' late," Conrad announced once he walked in. "Had a fistfight break out in the saloon just as I was gettin' ready to leave."

"You coulda left that to Delgado," Burns interjected.

"Delgado was in the middle of it already," Conrad informed them, "I had to wade in and help him out."

Nance didn't want to wait any longer for a resolution to what he termed the 'Molly Hooper problem.' "What are we gonna do about the three of 'em?" he asked point blank.

"And hello to you, too, Nance," Conrad replied. "You in a hurry to commit murder? Did I ever tell ya it's against the law to kill people?"

"Shut up, Conrad," Burns spat out. "No time for you to play high-and-mighty. You want them out of the way just as much as the rest of us."

"Gentlemen, gentlemen, that's just about enough. We've discussed this before. We seem to be at an impasse in obtainin' Molly Hooper's ranch, and I don't see that we have much choice in the matter. Does anybody have an alternative suggestion to Nance's insistence that we take the final step and make arrangements to dispose of one or more of the three principals standin' in our way?"

Nance Tesson got another of those looks on his face. "What was all that jibberish, Bircken?"

"Any ideas besides killin' them?" The room was deathly quiet. The only sound that could be heard was Mayor Haven swirling brandy around in his glass, and after a minute or two even that stopped. "Does anyone have any reservations about takin' the final step?" Burns Wolcott opened his mouth to say something, then abruptly changed his mind. "Then we're in agreement?" Jeremiah asked.

No one spoke, but all around the room heads nodded. A smile spread across Nance's face; he was finally going to get to do what he'd wanted to do almost from the beginning. "Nance, your move," Jeremiah pronounced, and it seemed a line had been crossed. Tesson just sat and grinned, already beginning to plot and plan in his head. Now all he had to do was find the perfect time to execute his idea. Leave it to the big man; he'd get it taken care of and they could all go back to making money.

XXXXXXXX

Bret and Molly collected Galead from the livery and returned to the ranch. Molly took her time and insisted on giving the Arabian a good rubdown; Bret did the same with Blackthorn. When she finished Molly walked to the house and Bret found little things to do in the barn that kept him busy until Bart rode in, done for the day. He'd gotten the new ranch hands started, learning the layout of the area and the ranch, and familiarizing all four with the way everything should be done. As he unsaddled Noble and then proceeded to groom the gelding, he and Bret discussed the 'run-in' with the marshal in Yuma and just what the next steps would probably be.

"I think we should take turns stayin' in the house with Molly," Bret suggested.

"Alternatin' nights, you mean?" Bart asked.

"Yeah," his brother answered. "I'm worried about you, too."

"Why?"

"Because they went after you before."

Bart shrugged and continued working on his horse. "So?"

"I think somebody's got it in for ya."

That caused Bart to stop what he was doing. "Why? Because I'm the one they went after? Just lucky, I guess. I don't know any of 'em except the marshal and Bircken."

"Watch your back, alright? The objective here is to come out of this alive."

Bart gave his brother a long, hard look. "Is it, Bret? Is it really?"

Now it was Bret's turn to stop and stare oddly at Bart. "What does that mean?"

"It means – what are we doin' here? Answerin' to different names, pretendin' to be somethin' we're not. We've been here for weeks. Are we tryin' to help this girl – or have you fallen for her?"

Bret gazed down at the ground and kicked at a rock that was right in front of him. "I . . . I don't know. I just know if we ride away now they'll kill her – for sure. And I don't want that to happen."

"Neither do I."

"Then we'll stay an see it through to the end?" Bret was asking for his brother's help – and approval.

"Whatever the end is – yeah."


	16. Where's Here?

Chapter 15 – Where's Here?

A week passed; seven days filled with breakfasts and suppers, laughter and sadness, hard work and no poker. Bret and Bart spent the whole time waiting for something to happen, but nothing did. As the next week started they were ever more on guard, expecting an attack that was taking its own sweet time in arriving. Even the members of the cattle consortium wondered just what Nance Tesson was waiting for.

Ten days after the attempted laming of Molly's stallion, a trip to Yuma could no longer be delayed. Supplies were critically low and Bret made the decision, supported by Bart, that tomorrow was the day for the journey. All three were up early. Molly fixed coffee while Bret hitched the wagon and Bart saddled the horses. There was no desire for food, just a nervous anticipation of what was to come.

The ride into town was quiet and peaceful, with no signs of anyone or anything to disturb them. Molly drove the wagon with Bret riding beside her on Blackthorn and Bart bringing up the rear on Noble. The supply list for Mason's General Store was long, and by the time the shopping had been completed all had finally regained their appetites. Once again the Cantina served as the spot for food and respite from the ever-growing concern that there was an attack of some sort coming, and the longer it was delayed, the worse it was expected to be.

They were finishing their meal when Burns Wolcott and Jeremiah Bircken walked in and sat down. Jeremiah tipped his hat; there was no acknowledgment of any sort from Wolcott. Less than five minutes later Marshal Sanders made an appearance. Unlike the other two, he came to their table. "Molly, Hancock, Delacroix, must be a supply run, eh?"

"Marshal, how are you this mornin'?" Bret asked as Molly nodded and Bart said nothing.

"Fit as a fiddle, Mr. Delacroix. And yourself?"

Bret was tempted to laugh but resisted the urge. "Just fine." He put money on the table and turned to Molly. "Are you ready to go?"

"Yes. Conrad, nice to see you." Bart held Molly's chair and Sanders stepped aside as they left the Cantina.

Bart secured Noble to the back of the loaded wagon and helped Molly up, then climbed up himself to drive. Bret once again rode along next to them. Back inside the Cantina, Conrad took a seat at the table with Wolcott and Bircken. "What was that little farce?" Burns asked pointedly.

"Just that," the marshal answered. "I want it well-documented that we were all here and just as cordial as could be to them."

"Do you expect somethin' that we don't know about?" Jeremiah questioned.

"Nope, I know nothin' more than the two of you. I'm just bein' cautious."

"I wish Nance would make his move, whatever it's gonna be," Wolcott stated flatly.

"All in good time, gentlemen. All in good time," the head of the consortium replied.

XXXXXXXX

Nance Tesson was well aware of the fact that his three targets had finally taken a trip into Yuma proper. Once they passed the halfway point on the road into town he had a sizeable herd of cattle moved from his ranch towards Bircken's, slowly making their way down the road and forcing any travelers to take the long, more difficult way around. When his riders had the herd positioned just so they stopped their forward progress and waited, per the bosses instructions.

As soon as the lookout spotted Molly's wagon returning later in the day the cattle were once again started across the valley. The ranch owner directed Bart down the side road and he turned the horses and wagon to the alternate route. "It's gonna be rough," she warned her driver, "but it's passable. Just keep them following the road until we get to that old shack up ahead, then you have to veer left to get home."

Both Mavericks were suspicious of a trap, and Bret rode on to investigate the shack. It was entirely deserted, with no sign of anyone or anything having been in the area for quite a while. He rode back toward his brother and Molly and had just reached them when the sound of a rifle shot split the still air. Bart slapped the horse's reins and took off in the wagon, racing as fast as the team could manage along bumpy terrain. He assumed Bret to be right behind them, but it required every bit of his attention to get the horses and wagon back to the ranch in one piece. As they skidded to a halt in front of the house Bart realized his brother was missing.

"Where are you going?!" Molly screamed at him as he jumped on Noble and jerked the reins free of the wagon.

"After him!" Bart yelled back and wheeled the horse the way they'd come, ordering Molly to 'Get inside!" as he rode away. He found Blackthorn standing over his brother, who was sprawled on the ground face down. They were less than ten feet away from the shack. "BRET!"

There was no answer, but there was another rifle shot. This one missed but came within a few inches of Bart as he launched himself from Noble's back and onto the ground next to the motionless figure. No time to do any kind of inspection, as the rifle continued firing, so he heaved his brother from the ground, onto his own back, and ran for the building. Another bullet caught his left hand as he reached to push in the door, and the two Mavericks fell into the limited protection the ramshackle structure offered. The hand wound didn't feel serious and the only thing Bart was interested in was finding where Bret had been hit. There was a bloody gash on his forehead – the cause of his unconsciousness, no doubt – and a gradually spreading stain on his left shoulder. "Don't you know how to duck?" Bart asked shakily, as he peeled off his brother's jacket to check the wound itself.

It was bleeding slowly, which made him believe the bullet was still in there. Another shot came through a hole in the door and just missed. Bart dragged Bret out of the way, up against the wall, and pulled out his Colt. As far as he could tell there was only one shooter; that idea was proven wrong when a gunshot came from a different direction. This wasn't a rifle – it sounded like another .45. He got off two shots, one in each direction, and it was momentarily quiet outside. There was a muffled sound from his brother and he glanced to see eyes struggling to open. He reached down with the fingers of his wounded hand and touched Bret's right shoulder. "You're safe, Bret. I'm here."

"Here," came the murmured response. "Where's here?"

"Inside that shack we almost passed," Bart answered.

"Almost?"

"Molly and I passed. You, not so much."

Another shot from the rifle, and this one came in through the broken-out window and ricocheted off the wall. "Company?"

"Yeah," Bart answered. "Two of 'em, I think. How's the shoulder?"

"Hurts."

"Yeah, I know that feelin'."

Bret finally succeeded in opening his eyes and saw the blood on Bart's left hand. "You're hit."

"Not bad. They caught me as I opened the door to get us in here."

"Molly?"

"She's at the ranch. I got her home before I figured out you'd stopped to take a nap."

"Not . . . my idea."

"Hold on, pappy, I'll get us outta here."

"Got a handkerchief?"

Bart was momentarily speechless. Finally he answered, "Why? You need to blow your nose?"

Bret put out his right hand. "Give it . . . here. I'll wrap your hand."

Bart pulled out the kerchief with his bloody fingers and dropped it into Bret's outstretched hand. "Satisfied?"

"Hold still," the older brother instructed, as he attempted to wrap Bart's hand and tie a makeshift knot. "At least ya won't drip . . . blood."

"Will you settle down now?"

"Sure."

Ten or fifteen minutes went by before another shot was fired, and it came from a third direction. Either there were now three shooters or one of the original two had changed positions. Bart snuck a look out the window just in time to see someone unfamiliar looking run across the rut-filled road. He took a shot and missed and was met by an almost immediate hail of bullets. He glanced down at Bret, whose eyes were once again closed. "Not a good idea, son," the wounded man told him.

"Thanks. I'll remember that."

"Any hope . . . a gettin' outta here?"

Bart let out a breath. "Not anytime soon, I'm sorry to say."

"Okay," was the response. "I kinda figured."

XXXXXXXX

Molly could hear the gunfire and didn't know what to do. Hancock told her to stay inside, and she knew that was the safest place for her, but those were her foremen being shot at. And surely if one of them hadn't been hurt they would have come riding back. Just as she made up her mind to go help whether it was a good idea or not, a rifle shot took out her front window. She grabbed her own rifle from behind the door and returned fire, just to see if she could flush the shooter out. The response was swift and came at her from two different directions.

Whether she wanted to help or not, she wasn't going anywhere, either. Maybe that was the point of the whole matter; keep her pinned down while someone else took care of the two men that had become her trusted friends. Had Joe been shot? How badly was he hurt? Or, God forbid, was he dead? And what about Hancock? Had he gotten back in time to protect Joe? Somebody was alive – that much she knew, because shots could still be heard. But what condition either of them was in was a question she had no answer for. And now, just like Jamie and Joe, she would have to sit and wait.

XXXXXXXX

Time passed slowly, just as it always does when you've nothing to do but wait for time to pass. Bret's head hurt; so did his shoulder. And Bart's hand, whether it was serious or not, kept up its slow trickle of blood and nagging pain. Bret was in and out of consciousness, and Bart was content to let that occur; at least Bret wasn't in pain when he wasn't awake.

Bart knew well the strategy; it didn't take a genius to figure it out. Keep them pinned down and wondering when the next all-out assault would come, then wait until the cover of darkness to strike. This was not a robbery attempt; it was an attack on their very lives. And no matter what it took, Bart Maverick had no intention of losing the fight.


	17. Debt Paid

Chapter 16 – Debt Paid

"Bart?"

"Hmmm?"

"Is it time?"

"Time for what, Pappy?"

"Time to go home."

Bart looked down from his spot leaning against the bottom of the shattered window, worried about Bret. It was dark enough that he could barely see, but it looked like his brother's eyes were open again. Bret shifted his position slightly and winced as he did so; that bullet in his shoulder wasn't helping any. They'd been here all afternoon and evening, and now how long into the night? Bart pulled his watch out of his coat pocket and tried to read it. Almost one o'clock in the morning. What he wouldn't give right now for a drink of water. It had to be worse for Bret, and there was no way for him to help.

"Is there anything I can do for you, big brother? Any way I can help?"

"You got any . . . any cigars on ya?"

Bart shook his head, then realized that Bret probably couldn't see him in the dark. "Can't, Pappy. Can't give 'em a target. Anything else?"

"Talk to me. Don't wanna . . . think . . . about the . . . shoulder."

"Don't know what to talk about. Unless . . . there's one thing I never told you the truth about."

"Mexico."

"Yeah." Bart stared down at the ground, then over at Bret. He saw the look of pain in his brother's eyes, and knew he had to do something to ease the intensity of the hurt. Maybe if he could make Bret think about something else . . .

"It started the day we buried Caroline. I was so broken up inside that I had to go – get out of there as fast as I could. I hadn't gotten a mile away from the ranch when I pulled a bottle of whiskey out of my saddlebags . . ."

Bart spent the better part of the night telling his brother the story of drunken days and nights in Magdalena, his friendship with Melodia, the card cheating, the nights spent in the stall with his horse, including the last night when he tried . . . well, when he attempted to end all the pain. How he got sick, then sober, and Melodia put the idea of the school in his head. Trying to buy the land from Dorado, meeting and becoming friends with Alonzo, the nights spent in Nogales playing poker to win enough to pay for all the building materials; the robbery that almost broke him. Then the hard physical labor, the heat and the sweat as Zo taught him to do something with his hands besides play poker, and the accident that nearly derailed everything.

He explained Maxwell Auebechon, or rather René Gauthier, and his murderous brother Phillippe, the recovery of the stolen funds, the completion of the school, the birth and christening of Alonzo Bartley Sequestre. And finally, his return to the states to find and make amends to his own brother.

Bret was so quiet when he finished that he thought maybe his brother had passed out again. Finally, in a tired voice, he heard, "Why wouldn't ya tell me what happened down there?"

Bart sighed. He knew this moment would come, when he finally had to tell the whole truth about everything that transpired, and he'd put it off as long as he could. He let out another long breath and finally gave his answer. "I cheated, Bret. Not just one hand, and not just one person. Every game I played, every new opponent I faced. I used every dirty trick that Pappy ever taught us. Night after night after night, until the night I put the gun in my mouth and pulled the trigger. I took money away from other men like somebody owed it to me. And when I got sober enough to realize what I'd done, I wanted to die all over again. How could I do that and still call myself a Maverick?

"That's what I haven't been able to tell you all this time. Because I knew when I finally told you what I'd done, you wouldn't wanna call me brother anymore. I didn't wanna lose you." Sigh. "And now I have."

"Is that what you think of me? That I'd disown you over poker?"

"Pappy raised us to be honest."

The voice was weak, but the words were strong. "Momma raised us until she died, and then we raised ourselves. Pappy did the best he could, and that included teachin' us poker. But Pappy's the one that taught us how to cheat, too. Don't forget that. I'm not sayin' it was right, but after what led up to it, I understand it. Once you quit drinkin', did you cheat again?"

"No."

"And you paid for the whole school?"

"Yeah, and I helped build it until my hand got broken."

Bret was silent for a minute or more. When he finally spoke, there was sympathy and affection in his voice. "You did your best to pay your debt to the people a that town. You gave 'em somethin' they'll have for years and years, somethin' they wouldn't a had before. Somethin' that they needed. I'd say you did right by the people of Magdalena."

Bart let out the breath he'd been holding in. His voice was quiet, humble, hopeful. "Yeah?"

"Yeah." Bret closed his eyes against the darkness. He was exhausted after what he'd told Bart, but it needed to be said. His brother couldn't spend the rest of his life trying to pay a debt he didn't owe. Now, after all this time, things finally made sense. Why Bart was always so ready to help strangers. To try and right every wrong that was committed against somebody that didn't deserve it. Maybe even jumping in front of Bret to take a bullet meant for the older Maverick and almost getting himself killed for doing it. He was always trying to make up for the 'crime' he'd committed against the people of a tiny town in Mexico.

Bret struggled to open his eyes. "Bart, I . . . "

Before he could say anything else, another round of shots rang out in the silent night air, and even Bret could hear the noise made by running feet. Bart waited and suddenly twisted sideways in the window and fired, and a soft grunt of 'ooof' was heard, followed by a loud 'thud' as a body hit the ground and lay still.

"One down, one to go," Bart whispered.

' _Please, God, don't let us have to wait that long for the next one,'_ ran through Bret's mind.


	18. Riding Double

Chapter 17 – Riding Double

Molly sat underneath her broken-out window and wondered how long this could go on. Every time she tried to move away from the shattered glass that littered the floor someone took another shot at her. It was almost as if they could see every move she made.

Finally it got dark enough that she could crawl away from the window to get food and water. Immediately she thought of Joe and Jamie, and wondered how they were. It broke her heart to think that one of them might be severely wounded or dead when it wasn't even their fight. She had to find a way to get back to the shack to see who needed her help.

She was just about to crawl back to the window when a shadow passed in front of it, and she raised her rifle just in case. A man she recognized as working for Nance Tesson appeared right outside the window, with a .45 pointed where she'd been sitting most of the day. She heard the hammer of the gun as it was pulled back and jerked on the trigger just as he raised his eyes and peered into the darkness that was her salvation. Molly felt the blast of the gun and heard him drop on the porch, followed by four or five minutes of silence. The next sound she heard was a horse galloping away from the ranch. Did that mean it was over?

She crawled back to the window with her rifle and peered over the sill. There was no movement on the porch; no sound anywhere on the ranch beside the mares milling about the corral. She pulled herself carefully to her feet and remained out of the light, just in case she wasn't alone. Nothing. Molly poked the end of the rifle out the window, anticipating a shot; there was none. Carefully she scooted to the other side of the window and over to the door, opening it ever so slowly. Still nothing. Finally flinging it open wide, she again showed the end of the rifle outside. In return, she heard Galead nicker from inside the barn, but no other sound.

She stepped out onto the porch and approached the body carefully. His gun lay out in the open and she kicked it out of reach before poking him with the barrel of the rifle. Whoever he was, or had been, he was definitely dead, and a sob caught in her throat. _'He was going to kill you,'_ she reminded herself.

From the bunkhouse she heard a voice call out, "Miss Hooper, are you alright?" It was Jason, one of the new ranch hands.

"I am," she answered, relieved to be able to say that at last.

Jason came running out with his gun drawn, followed by the other three men that Hancock had hired. In a rush of words they explained not getting into the apparent gunfight, unsure of just who or what was involved. "It's alright, I understand. You did the right thing," she told them, then continued with, "Jason, would you saddle my horse? I have to go find Hancock and Delacroix."

"We're goin' with ya, Miss Hooper," Jason told her, as the men ran to the barn. In less than ten minutes three of the new hands, including Jason, rode out towards the old road into Yuma with Molly. _'Please let_ _them be alright,_ ' the girl thought as she rode.

XXXXXXXX

Nothing had gone the way he planned it. Delacroix was still alive; at least he had been when Hancock carried him inside the shack. Now Nealy was dead, killed by the man that Conrad Sanders despised so much, and he wasn't any closer to getting rid of them then he had been when this started hours ago. Before he had a chance to finish the job he'd been begging them to give him for weeks, he heard riders approaching. Knowing that they sure weren't his men, Nance Tesson snuck off to his horse and headed the back way towards his ranch. It was time to come up with a new plan. And he needed to have one in place before Wolcott and Bircken could castigate him for the failure of this one.

He assumed that by now Pitchford and Danly had taken care of Molly Hooper. That would ultimately solve the problem, he was well aware, but her two hired hands had become a thorn in his side; particularly since he had been so eager to handle them personally. He had to go back over the plan, step by step, to determine just where it had gone wrong. That would allow him to better prepare for the next time. Assuming he would be granted a next time by the rest of the consortium.

When he got back to his ranch there was no sign of Pitchford or Danly. Nance left his horse tied out front of the house and went inside, greeted only by his dogs. He poured himself a glass of whiskey and sat down in his favorite armchair to go over the plan in his head one more time. The more he thought about it, the more he came to the conclusion that what went wrong was his own fault. If he'd killed Delacroix with his first shot he wouldn't have been in such a hurry to shoot Hancock. Damn! Why hadn't he taken more time? Now he'd have to listen to the Mayor and the Marshall, as well as Bircken and Wolcott.

And where exactly were his two missing men? The last thing he needed was for their task to go awry. How hard was it to kill a girl, anyway? He heard a horse outside and rushed to the front door, wanting and needing good news. What he saw didn't make him happy. Danly, by himself, with a sour look on his face.

"What happened?"

"She got Mel," Danly explained.

"Did you get her?"

Danly shook his head. "No. She got help from her ranch hands." That was true, although the timing was slightly distorted. Couldn't you trust anybody to do their job anymore?

"Get outta here, before I shoot ya myself," Nance growled at Danly, who took his boss at his word and rode away.

' _Damn. Double damn,_ ' though Tesson. He went back into the house and slammed the door. The whiskey bottle stood on the table and he refilled his glass before sitting down heavily in his chair. There must be a way to take care of the three problems that he'd kept insisting he could eradicate. "Now what, Nance old boy? You been braggin' all along you could take care of this. So why don't you?"

"That's a good question, Nance. Why don't you?"

"Don't you knock, Sanders?" Nance almost growled at the marshal.

"Would you have heard me if I did?"

Tesson shook his head. "Probably not." He pushed the bottle at the lawman. "Drink?"

Conrad pushed it back. "No, thanks. I came out to investigate somethin' goin' on out at the old deserted shack about two miles from here. What happened? Is it over with?"

"Yeah, it's over. But not the way it's supposed to be over."

"What about Molly?" Sanders asked.

"Alive and well," Nance replied disgustedly. "Delacroix's hit, but I don't think he's dead. Hancock got to him before I could finish him off. Nealy an Pitchford are gone, too. It just all went wrong. I'll have another plan by mornin'."

"Nance?"

"Yeah?"

"It's already mornin'."

XXXXXXXX

Bart heard one horse leave less than a minute before the other riders arrived. Molly was at the head of the group, and she'd brought Jason, Sam, and Grimes with her.

"Bret," Bart whispered as he shook his brother slightly.

"Huh?" came the half-awake reply.

"Molly's here with three of the boys."

"Molly? She's alright?"

"She's fine, Pappy, which is more than I can say for you. Molly! In here!"

The girl was the first one through the door. Sam and Jason stayed outside to take a look around; Grimes inspected the body. "Joe! Hancock, what happened?" She rushed to Bret's side; he'd passed out once again from the pain in his shoulder and blood loss. "Sam! Go to Yuma and bring Doc Bradley back to the ranch. And tell him to hurry!"

Sam left, as instructed, and Jason came in with a canteen. "Thought ya might need this," he told Bart as he handed him the canteen. "Can ya use some help?"

"Yeah," Bart answered, "help me get some water down him, would ya?"

Jason did his best to pull Bret up so that Bart could get him a drink. "Joe. Joe, wake up for a minute. I've got water."

That was the magic word. Bret's eyes fluttered open and a tiny smile creased his face. "Been waitin' a while for that," he murmured as Bart held the canteen up to his brother's lips and tipped it so that the clear liquid went where it was supposed to. Bret drank for a long minute and only when he was through did Bart take big, gulping swallows himself.

"You were here the whole time without water?" Molly queried.

When Bart stopped drinking, he answered. "Yep. Horses got away before I could grab a canteen. I had to practically drag him in here."

"Don't talk about me like that, I ain't dead yet," Bret babbled softly.

Molly saw the bloody kerchief wrapped around Bart's left hand. "You're hurt, too."

"Nothin' to worry about." He turned his attention back to Jason. "Did you find the horses?"

"Yes, sir, right close together. You wanna try the stallion or the gelding?"

"The stallion. Just bring the buckskin with us. Help me get him up in the saddle and I'll ride behind him ta hold him up. Molly, let's go. I wanna have him there when the doctor gets to your house." Bart picked his brother up carefully and carried him outside. Sunrise was just about to break over the horizon. "Alright, Jason, help me here." It took a few minutes and a lot of maneuvering before they got Bret into the saddle. Bart swung up on Blackthorn behind his brother and gathered the reins in his hands. "Hold on, Pappy, we're goin' for a little ride." Bret grunted in acknowledgment and Bart did his best to hold onto the stallion while keeping Bret upright. Every step of the horse jarred the wounded man, and Bart took it as slowly as he dared.

Thankfully the distance was short and they arrived before the doctor. "Bring him in the house," Molly instructed once again, as Bart and Jason did just that. Grimes followed them back to the ranch with Nealy's body in a 'dead-man carry' over his horse, and left the two bodies together on the porch. In just a few minutes Sam and the doctor arrived; by that time Bret had drifted back into an unconscious state.

"Alright, everybody out," Doc Bradley ordered. Molly and Jason left the room; Bart stood firmly planted next to the bed. "You too," Doc reiterated, but Bart shook his head.

"Not leavin'," came the reply.

Doc shrugged his shoulders. "Could get ugly. Looks like the bullets still in there."

Bart shook his head. "I've seen worse."

"Alright, let's get started then."


	19. Decisions, Decisions, Decisions

Chapter 18 – Decisions, Decisions, Decisions

Doc Bradley dropped the bullet into a rag and wiped his forehead with his sleeve. "It's out, but I'm not sure what kind of damage I had to do to get it," he announced to Bart, who was standing in the corner of the room waiting for the doctor's declaration of success. He walked to Bret's bedside and wiped the beads of sweat from his brother's forehead.

"Whatta ya think?" he asked.

Doc set down his forceps and picked up a clean rag, wiping off his entire face. The removal of the bullet had proven to be more time-consuming and arduous than he'd at first expected. "Don't know," Bradley answered. "I had to do some digging to find it; not sure what I might have damaged in there. It's gonna be sore and hard to use for a while, that's for sure."

"But he's gonna be alright?"

The doctor put his hand on Bart's shoulder. "Yes, son, he's going to be alright. As long as it doesn't get infected. He means a lot to you, doesn't he?"

"Yeah, Doc. Thanks."

"Let me get this stitched up, then I want to see your hand."

"It's fine."

Bradley chuckled. "Let me determine that, will you? Just give me a few minutes." He stitched Bret's wound expertly, then turned his attention to Bart. "You're right, it's not bad. But it could use a couple stitches. You alright with that?"

Bart grimaced but nodded. "Go ahead." The doctor did his minimal stitching and bandaged the wound when he finished. "Keep an eye on that," he told Bart as he gathered his equipment. "I'll come out tomorrow morning to see how his shoulder's doing. Keep him still for a couple days, if you can. Give those stitches a chance to hold. I'll send Molly back in."

Bart nodded again and Doc Bradley left. Molly appeared in the doorway. "How is he?"

Bart chuckled just a bit. "Doc says he'll be alright if we can keep him down for a few days."

"And your hand?"

"Two stitches. Told you it was nothin'."

Molly pulled a chair over by the bed. "You saved his life."

"Yeah. We've developed a habit of doin' that for each other."

"That was the attack you were expecting."

"Yes, ma'am. You recognize either of those two outside?"

"I did. Both of them worked for Nance Tesson. Sam's ridin' back into town with Doc; him and Jason loaded the bodies in the wagon."

Bart sat down on the edge of Bret's bed, careful not to disturb the wounded man. "It's not enough, ya know? To get Tesson arrested, I mean. Specially if Sanders is in on this, like we expect."

"It's not worth it, Hancock. Joe almost got killed, you were hurt; maybe I should just give up and sell to the consortium."

Bart looked carefully at the girl – she seemed small and fragile right now. Very gently he asked, "Is that what you really want to do, Molly? Really?"

The answer came back quickly, but quietly. "No."

"If you sell your ranch to 'em, and it's not what you wanna do, then you let 'em win. What would your father do?"

She looked up from the still figure in the bed and stared at the man in front of her for a minute. "He'd fight."

"And you?"

"I don't know. I can't ask you to stay here and help me. There's no reason for you to do that, and Delacroix's hurt. Why would you two want to be involved in something that could get you killed?"

What escaped from Bart sounded like the wry little laugh she'd heard from him once or twice before. "We don't. Wanna get killed, I mean. We already talked about it and decided we were here no matter what it took. That won't change – so it's all up to you. If you stay, we stay. If you sell, I'll pack Joe in a wagon an get him outta here." He stopped for just a minute and looked straight at her. "What is it that you wanna do, Molly?"

The girl sat up and straightened her shoulders. Her voice was still quiet, but it was firm and clear. "I want to breed horses for the army."

Bart grinned at her. "I thought you might."

XXXXXXXX

The meeting at Bircken's house was much different than the last several had been. Nance Tesson was quiet and subdued, still trying to work out an alternate plan for Molly Hooper and her two foremen. Burns Wolcott had been warned by Jeremiah to keep his mouth shut and do nothing to aggravate Nance, and the Mayor had given up all hope of success. Only Conrad Sanders seemed to be in a reasonably good frame of mind, and Jeremiah had to assume that the marshal had something up his sleeve.

"What do we do now?" Branch Haven finally broke the silence.

"I'll come up with something. I still think we have to kill 'em. Nothin' else has worked."

"Neither has that, Nance," Conrad reminded him. "All it got was two of your men killed."

"You got a better idea, Marshal?"

"As a matter of fact, I do. This is what I think we should do . . . . . . . "

XXXXXXXX

Bart shifted in the chair, knowing that he wasn't going to be comfortable no matter what position he lay in. He sat up to check on his brother; Bret was still asleep and Bart was grateful for that small favor. He pulled out his watch and read the time – it was almost four o'clock in the afternoon. He could feel someone and turned around to see Molly standing at the door.

"Still sleeping?" she asked.

"Yeah. That's the best thing for him."

"If I make some food, will you eat it?"

"And coffee?"

"And coffee."

"Yes, ma'am. Will you come in and sit with us for a while?"

Molly nodded. "When I bring in your supper."

"I'll be here," Bart answered. The girl left and Bart sat forward, leaning his elbows on his knees, and watched his brother. One or the other of them had been in this position too many times. Then he thanked God that he was sitting here instead of digging a grave. He closed his eyes for just a minute and must have dozed off, because the next thing he knew Molly was back with a cup of coffee and a plate of food. "Sorry."

"For what? Falling asleep? You've been up with him since yesterday; I think you're entitled. Here, eat this and then I'll give you the coffee."

The gambler chuckled softly. "What, you don't like my eatin' habits either?"

"You're much too thin."

"Funny, that's what . . . Joe always says."

"We talked about you, you know. When they beat you."

"You did?" He stopped eating, curious.

"He said he practically raised you."

Bart almost choked when he started to laugh. "No practically about it. He's probably the only reason I'm still here. Almost got in bad trouble when I was fifteen. Coulda gotten killed."

"He stopped you?"

"The thought of diappointin' him stopped me. Can I have that coffee now?"

"Oh, sure," as she handed him the cup. "So you're like brothers?"

"Just like brothers." That was certainly true.

"That's what Joe said, too."

"See there? We been around each other so long we think alike."

"What if one of you met somebody . . . and wanted to stay someplace?"

"Then we would, I guess. Why?"

"No reason. Just curious."

Bart handed her back his plate; he'd eaten most of what she'd given him. He drank the rest of the coffee and looked at the man asleep in the bed, then back at Molly. Was there more going on here than he knew about?


	20. The Deputy and the Gambler

Chapter 19 – The Deputy and the Gambler

When the doctor stopped by Molly's the next morning, Bret was awake and alert, although still in pain from the bullet and all the probing Doc had done to get it out. Bart stayed in the room while Doc took a look at both the shoulder and the head, waiting to hear what he had to say. "Sorry for all the digging around I had to do yesterday," Bradley finally explained, "but that bullet was in as deep as it could be. And the longer it stayed there, the more damage it was liable to do."

"It's alright," Bret answered, "at least it's out."

"Yes, but that doesn't mean everything is fine. You need to stay relatively still for another day or two, to give those stitches time to hold that wound together. If you don't, we could end up with an infection that could kill you."

"Tell him that part about staying in bed and still for a couple more days again, Doc. Just to make sure he heard it," Bart urged the doctor.

"Do I really need to do that, Mr. Delacroix?"

Bret chuckled a bit, then winced. "No, doctor, I heard you loud and clear the first time. No matter what Jamie might have told you."

Bart grinned, hopeful that maybe this time his brother really would pay attention to the doctor. "When can you stop by again, Doc?"

"I'll come back day after tomorrow, Mr. Hancock. How's your hand this morning?"

Bart stuck out his left hand for Bradley's inspection. "See for yourself."

The doctor unwrapped the bandaging and inspected Bart's wound, put an ointment of some sort on it, then rewrapped the bandage. "Look's good for a gunshot. Try to keep it clean and dry. Can I talk to you before I leave?"

Bart was concerned but not unduly so. "Sure, Doc, I'll walk you out if you're finished."

"Good." Bradley picked up his bag and led the way back into the house, where Molly waited. "I'm worried about the probing I had to do to find the bullet. He's in real danger of an infection, and I can't emphasize it enough how important it is to make him stay in bed and stay quiet. I'm going to leave you some aspirin, Molly, and I want you to make sure he takes one morning and night. And don't let him skip any meals, he doesn't need anything that keeps him agitated or awake."

"Little danger of him skipping meals, Doc," Bart offered.

"Just wanted to be sure. Easy enough for the stomach to turn sour with everything else going on. Molly, send somebody for me if you see any change at all. Mr. Hancock, take care of that hand."

"Thanks, Doc, I will."

Once the doctor was gone Molly told Bart, "I've got breakfast ready for both of you. Help me carry it in there?"

"Sure. Coffee, too?"

The girl laughed. "Coffee too, Hancock. You have a one track mind."

After breakfast Bart saddled Noble and rode into Yuma to have another 'discussion' with Conrad Sanders. When he walked into the marshal's office he found Delgado Hernandez rather than Sanders. The deputy looked up from the paperwork he was finishing as soon as the door opened. "Yes, sir, what can I do for you?"

"You must be Deputy Hernandez. I'm Jamie Hancock, I work for Molly Hooper." Bart offered his hand to the deputy, who shook it and smiled.

"Heard a lot about you from the marshal."

"None of it good, I'm sure. Is he in town? I'd like to talk to him about the attack the other night."

"Have a seat, Mr. Hancock. Anybody the marshal bad-mouths is automatically a friend a mine."

"Oh? You work for the man but you're not friends?"

"No, sir, I work for the city of Yuma. When the mayor hired Marshal Sanders the Town Council insisted that I be retained as a deputy. We tolerate each other. I heard about what happened. Conrad hasn't been out to talk to you and Miss Hooper yet?"

Bart shook his head. "Nope. That's why I came in. Any idea where he is?"

"When he left he was headed for the mayor's office. That was two hours ago. I would imagine they're havin' another meetin'."

"The marshal and the mayor? Anybody else involved?"

"Jeremiah Bircken. Burns Wolcott. And Nance Tesson."

' _So the mayor's in on it too?'_ Bart thought. _'No wonder it's gone as far as it has.'_ "So that's the consortium, huh?"

"That's it."

"Why do you work for him? If you don't like him, I mean."

"Because this town needs somebody that's not crooked. And I'm waitin' for the day they all get caught."

Bart had the urge to tell Delgado what he knew but needed to be sure of the deputies loyalties before exposing his determination to bring an end to the consortium. "And where's the mayor's office?"

"They're buildin' a new place they're callin' City Hall at the end of the street. For the time bein' its four doors down, on the other side of the street. There's a back entrance, so be careful if you're lookin' for somebody special. They can always sneak out the back way."

Bart laughed and shook hands again with Delgado. "I have a feelin' we're gonna see each other again, Deputy Hernandez."

"It was nice to meet ya, Mr. Hancock. Be careful around that bunch down at the mayor's office."

"I will, Deputy. I surely will."

Bart lit a cigar as he strolled down the street to the temporary mayor's office. Sanders horse was tethered out front, as was Jeremiah Bircken's. He couldn't identify any of the other mounts. He stood outside for a few minutes and smoked, deciding what approach to take with whoever was inside. When he was done with the cigar, he threw what was left into the street and went in. There was no one in the front office and he could hear raised voices coming from behind a closed door. He walked over to the door with the intention of entering the room but stopped and listened to the voices instead.

"That's your big plan, Nance? To try and kill 'em all again? Why is it gonna work this time?" That was the marshals' voice, calm and collected, as usual.

He presumed that the person who answered was the aforementioned Nance Tesson. "I'll be more careful, pick 'em off one at a time. By myself, with nobody else to depend on. And I won't miss this time."

A different voice was heard next. "You weren't supposed to miss last time."

Nance started to protest and a third voice cut in. This one was Jeremiah Bircken's. "I think we should discuss the marshal's plan."

"Really? You want to take that big a risk? What if it gets out of hand? It could cost us a lot of money." He didn't recognize that voice, either. That meant it was either Burns Wolcott or the mayor himself.

Bircken's voice again. "It's not any riskier than anything we've tried so far."

Just then an older woman came bustling down the hall. "Sir, you can't go in there, it's a private meeting. Can I help you with something?"

Bart backed away from the office door. He could hear the voices continuing to argue but he could no longer understand what they were saying. "Sorry, there was no one here when I came in. I'm looking for Marshal Sanders and I was told he was here. I'm Jamie Hancock, from the Hooper ranch."

"Have a seat, Mr. Hancock, and I'll see when the marshal will be free."

Bart did as told and the woman knocked on the closed door, then entered. She was gone for four or five minutes before returning. "Mr. Hancock, the marshal said he would meet you in thirty minutes back at his office. They're almost finished."

"Thank you, ma'am. I'll be there." He tipped his hat and left, walking back up the street. So, they weren't done yet, and they were planning something that could prove costly to the consortium. Bart could think of several things they might try, none of which would be particularly pleasant for the people he cared about.

He hurried back down to the marshal's office. Deputy Hernandez was sitting just where Bart had left him, and he smiled as Bart walked back in. "Did you find him, Mr. Hancock?"

Bart nodded. "Yes, I did. Him and all his friends. I think it's time you and I had a talk, Deputy. And drop the mister and just call me Hancock, please."


	21. Sanders and the Whale

Chapter 20 – Sanders and the Whale

"Mr. Hancock. What did you want to see me about?" That was the first thing Marshal Sanders asked when he returned to the jail.

"I should think that you'd of wanted to see me, marshal," Bart answered. He was sitting at Sanders desk and didn't get up or greet the marshal in any way. It was obvious the dislike was mutual.

"Oh, yes, the supposed incident at Molly Hooper's ranch."

Bart raised an eyebrow. "Were those supposed bodies that Doc brought back from his trip to Molly's?"

"No, no, those weren't 'supposed' bodies. Those were the bodies of two disgruntled ex-employees of Nance Tesson's."

"Ex-employees? Since when?" Bart cast a glance at Delgado, who merely shook his head.

"You know, I didn't ask Mr. Tesson. He told me he'd fired them for not doin' their jobs and that was good enough. How did you come to kill them, anyway?"

"I didn't come to kill them, Sanders. I shot one; Molly shot the other one. Both were attemtpin' to kill us at the time."

"Yes, and you were where?"

"Joe and I were pinned down in the shack on the old road to town."

Conrad sat for a moment as if considering what to ask next. "And just what were you and your partner doin' there?"

"We were ridin' back to the ranch after the supply trip we made to Yuma. We ran into you in the Cantina. Remember?"

"That's right. I'd forgotten. Why were you all on the old road?" The marshal was a cool customer, a man who apparently played poker and knew how to bluff.

"Because somebody was takin' a herd across the regular road. We heard shots; I was drivin' Molly's wagon and Joe was ridin' behind us. I took off to the ranch and got Molly home safe before I realized Joe wasn't with us. I went back an found him on the ground, shot."

Delgado got up and walked over to the coffee pot. "Mr. Hancock, some coffee?"

"Deputy, that sounds like a good idea. Thanks." Delgado brought a cup of coffee over to Bart as he walked back to his desk. Bart raised his cup to the lawman in thanks.

Sanders did his best to keep what he was feeling off of his face. What was it about this saddle tramp that irritated him so? "And then?"

"Oh, sorry. Then I got him inside and waited."

"How long?" Conrad might be able to keep the poker face but he couldn't prevent the exasperation in his voice.

"Till around one the next mornin'."

"What happened then?"

Bart heard the irritation in the marshal's voice and smiled. "Cowboy made a bad decision. I took advantage and shot him before he could shoot me." He paused and took a swallow of coffee. "Oh yeah, he had a partner. Molly and three of the ranch hands rode up and the partner high-tailed it outta there."

"You said Molly killed the other one. How'd that happen?" It was a stalling tactic. Sanders was incensed to think that Nance had fled at the first sign of trouble.

Good, Bart realized, he had Sanders rattled. "Guess you'd have to ask her to get the straight story. We kept waitin' for you to come out to the ranch an ask questions but you never did."

"I've been busy," the marshal snapped.

"Devising a new plan for the consortium?"

"What?"

Bart set his cup down on the corner of the desk and leaned forward. "Which word didn't you understand, marshal?"

Sanders turned to look at his deputy, who was still working on his reports and seemed to be paying no attention at all to the conversation. "I have no idea what that's supposed to mean, Mr. Hancock. You can tell Miss Hooper that I'll be out tomorrow to ask her some questions, and that partner of yours, too. Delacroix. I expect straight answers."

"That's what I expected, too, marshal. But I can see I won't get 'em here. Thanks for the coffee, deputy."

"Huh? Oh, sure thing, Mr. Hancock."

Bart left the empty coffee cup on Sanders desk. He'd accomplished exactly what he wanted to – the marshal knew he was aware of the consortium, and he had Conrad worried. He walked outside and left the jail, closing the door behind him and smiling.

"Awful friendly, weren't ya, Delgado?" Those were the first words out of Sanders' mouth once Bart had taken his leave and the door was shut.

"What?" the deputy asked. "All I did was offer him coffee."

Conrad picked up the empty cup from his desk and stared at it. He tried to make it a habit to keep his emotions in check and on an even keel, but there was just something about Hancock that prevented him from doing that. He actually hated the man, and he couldn't put his finger on the exact reason why. He cautioned himself to keep those feelings under control; he'd just tipped his hand and he didn't like the uneasiness it gave him. The consortium hadn't ultimately approved his plan before he left the meeting, but at this exact moment he believed it was necessary they proceed, and proceed sooner rather than later.

"I got somethin' to attend to, Hernandez. I'll be back later."

The deputy went "uh-huh" and kept right on with what he was doing. Once Sanders was gone Delgado grinned. Hancock really had riled the marshal. And that was not something that many men could accomplish.

XXXXXXXX

When Bart arrived back at the Hooper Ranch he went straight to see Jason. "Take the mares to the upper pastures and stay there until I send for ya."

"Trouble comin'?" the young man asked his foreman.

"Yep, and I want you and the horses out of the way. Stay with us, Jason, and we'll get this all settled into somethin' a whole lot more quiet and peaceful. Molly's gonna need men she can trust when this is all over."

"What about you and Delacroix?"

A sly grin flickered across the gambler's face. "Just in case."

Jason nodded. "You want us to go now?"

"Yeah. Pack up and get outta here. Leave me that little black mare for the wagon. If nothin's goin' on in two or three days, I'll get ya provisions. And you're in charge up there, alright?"

"Got it, boss. Anything else?"

"Watch your back."

"Will do."

He walked into the house and went straight to Bret, where he found Molly sitting and reading. "Don't read him any Edgar Allen Poe," Bart told her. "He doesn't like it."

"'S weird," Bret mumbled.

"Has he been behaving himself?"

"Completely," the girl answered.

"Can I talk to you for a minute?"

Molly nodded and followed Bart out of the room. He closed the door behind her.

"I'm sendin' Jason and the boys with the mares to the upper pastures. I told 'em to pack and go now and stay there until they heard from me. They're gonna leave us the little black mare you use on the wagon and I promised 'em supplies in two or three days. I put Jason in charge. That alright with you?"

"It's fine, but is it necessary?"

"I went to see Sanders. He was down at the mayor's office in a consortium meetin'. They've come up with another plan, Molly, and I don't wanna take any chances."

"How do you know that?" Molly asked, not doubting his word but merely wanting an answer to her question.

He smiled that sly little smile again. "There was nobody out front when I got there. Those boys are a bit too loud for their own good."

"They were discussing it? In the mayor's office?"

"Yes, ma'am. Conrad says he's comin' out here tomorrow to talk to you an . . . Joe, says he wants some truthful answers about what happened the other day."

"Why that . . . "

"No sense gettin' riled up, Molly, it won't do no good. That's why I sent the boys on outta here. An don't say nothin' to Joe, alright? He'd wanna get up outta bed and he don't need to do that. I don't think the marshal's gonna make a move till he's been here." He paused and lowered his voice even further. "By the way, I met Deputy Hernandez. He's a good man. He doesn't like the marshal any more than I do."

"Delagado and I went to school together. He was born in Yuma, same as I was. What kind of trouble are you expecting, Hancock?"

"I'm not sure. I can think of several things they might try. I don't think it'll come during the day, though. They haven't been real successful with that." He reached out and took the book out of her hands. "Give me that, would ya? I wanna spend some time with him."

She smiled at him; both men were so easy to talk to. "Are you hungry? I can fix some lunch."

Bart shook his head. "Naw, but I could stand – "

"Some coffee!" she finished for him, and they both laughed.

"See, now you're catchin' on." He opened the door and went back into the bedroom, taking the seat by Bret's bedside that Molly had vacated. "Let's see, where was she? Oh, yeah – here we go: _Though most men have some vague flitting ideas of the general perils of the grand fishery . . . "_


	22. Waste Not, Want Not

Chapter 21 – Waste Not, Want Not

"Hancock. Hancock. Bartley."

It was the last one that got him, finally. At some point he'd fallen asleep while reading to his brother and it was that same brother that woke him. "Huh? What? Oh, sorry. Did you - ? What?"

"Molly went outside to talk to Jason before he left. What's goin' on, Bart? What haven't you told me?"

"Nothin'."

"Don't tell me that. I know you're tryin' to keep me right where I am. Now tell me the truth." Bret was sitting up in bed, pillows propped behind him, with his arm in a sling to give the shoulder some support. Bart knew as soon as he opened his mouth he couldn't lie to his brother.

"They're plannin' somethin' else. I don't know what. So I'm sendin' the mares with Jason and the boys to the upper pastures to keep 'em safe."

"And?"

Bart blinked. "And what?"

"That's not all of it, is it?"

"The marshal's a little nervous. He'll be out tomorrow to ask you an Molly questions about the shootin's. An I found out the mayor's part of the consortium. That explains a lot."

"You were busy, weren't you?" Bret asked with a touch of mirth in his voice. "No wonder you were gone so long."

"Yeah, I guess. I met Delgado Hernandez, too. Sanders deputy. He doesn't like the marshal any more than I do. He's been waitin' for 'em to slip up."

"Any help there?"

Bart nodded, recalling his talk with the deputy. "Sounds like it. All he needs is evidence and he'll go to the Town Council with it. Seems some a the council members aren't real happy with the marshal or the mayor."

Bret began moving around and Bart got up and sat on the bed's edge. "What are you doin'?"

"I gotta get out of here. You need my help."

"I need you alive. You keep yourself right where you are until Doc Bradley gets back here day after tomorrow. He was worried about an infection an you're not goin' anywhere at least until he sees you again."

"I'm not sure which of you is the most stubborn," Molly said as she entered the room. "Jason's on his way with the boys and the herd. He moved the horses in the barn all down to one end so they'd be easier to get to if we need them."

"Got a good head on his shoulders, Molly. He's worth havin' around," Bart told her.

"Supper's almost ready, you two. We can eat in here if you'll help me bring it in, Hancock?"

"Yes, ma'am. I can do that if this one'll agree to stay put. How about it, Joe?"

Bret grinned the Maverick grin. "Whatta I get if I do?"

"Fed," Molly answered.

XXXXXXXX

No more meeting at the mayor's office, they'd gone to Jeremiah Bircken's ranch instead. "At least we won't get interrupted here," Jeremiah remarked as they took seats in his office. Fidelia followed the last man in with glasses and the brandy bottle, which she set down on Jeremiah's desk and then left the room. Tesson got up and closed the door behind her.

"No sense beatin' around the bush," the Marshal started. "They know what we're up to. Hancock did everything but throw it in my face."

Bircken poured brandy for everyone and passed the glasses around. "Why so much hostility between you two? You seem to delight in aggravatin' him, and it sounds like he does the same to you."

"It doesn't matter," Sanders answered. "We gotta finish this now. I'm goin' out there tomorrow to question Molly and Delacroix about the shootin's. I'll take a good look around and see what's the most vulnerable spots. Then we can proceed with the plan."

Nance shook his head. "We didn't entirely approve your plan, Conrad."

"Got to work better than yours, Nance. Seems you ran first chance you got instead a finishin' the job and killin' them two."

"Who told you that?" Nance wasn't denying it.

"Hancock." Sanders almost spit the word out. He wasn't sure who he disliked more at this moment, the saddle tramp or the coward in front of him.

"You'd have run, too. There was four of 'em comin', and I didn't know who was with 'em. Figured I'd have another chance. Didn't know everybody was gonna panic."

"We've not panicked, Nance. We've just decided to try something else," Branch Haven, ever the politician, attempted to diffuse the quickly escalating hostility in the room.

"What if you start somethin' we can't put out or control?" came Nance's next question.

"We won't," Sanders answered.

"You can't know that," Tesson quickly countered.

Burns Wolcott, who'd been silent up to this point, finally spoke up. "Can you guarantee you'll get them the next time, Nance?"

"Yes, I can."

"And what if you don't?" the mayor questioned.

"Then I'll keep my mouth shut and do whatever it takes to run her outta the valley."

Jeremiah looked from Burns to Branch to Conrad. Each, in turn, gave a small nod. "Alright, Nance, one more try. But wait until Conrad's gotten his questionin' outta the way. And then show us what you can do. If it's not done by Friday, we'll implement Conrad's plan. Agreed?"

"Agreed."

XXXXXXXX

Bret was asleep again, and Molly and Bart were sitting in front of the fireplace in the main room. There was an unexpected chill in the air, and Bart had started a small fire just to counter the early spring weather.

"What if they come after us before he's well?" Molly's tone was anxious, to say the least.

"They probably will. I just hope they wait a few days, give those stitches time to take hold. I don't like temptin' fate; we've come close too many times. I think they got somethin' up their sleeves, but it's what they do after it fails that worries me."

"After it fails? You think they'll keep trying?"

"They're not gonna give up, Molly. Not when they've come this far. I suspect whoever was behind the shootin' will come back at least once more."

She thought about that for a minute, then asked her next question. "You don't think that Conrad was the shooter, do you?"

"Nope. First off, he's a better shot than that or he woulda been dead a long time ago. Second, he wouldn't a run when you came ridin' up. Third, he's the one with the alternate plan. And I think it's gonna be ugly when it comes. That's the reason I sent the boys up the mountains, to get them and the mares outta the way. Do somethin' for me, would ya?"

"What's that?"

He looked at her in all seriousness. "Don't go outside by yourself. No matter what it's for, no matter how quick it'll be. Make sure I go with you."

"Do you really think - "

"Yes."

"You don't know what I was going to say, Hancock."

"Yes, I do think that they would try to kill you. Look at it this way, Molly. If they kill you, they don't have to kill us."

"Oh." It was easy to know from the expression on her face that she hadn't considered that. "That would solve problems for you and Delacroix. My being dead, I mean."

"No, it wouldn't. Joe cares about you. So do I, and you'd be dead. It wouldn't solve our problems at all."

"I see your point. What about the horses? We need to feed them tonight."

"I can do that. You stay here and keep an eye on my partner, alright?"

She nodded her head and he got up to go to the barn. Molly looked out the other window in the room, the one whose glass hadn't been shattered, and watched him all the way to the barn. Who were these two men, who seemed to care as much for her as she did for them? She heard Joe stir in the other room and went to see if he was awake. She didn't see the shadowy form up on the hill behind the trees with his rifle aimed at the barn.

It would be so easy to kill him now. Why wait until it was harder to accomplish? Nance sighed and set the rifle back down. He'd given his word he'd wait until the marshal came out tomorrow. Damn, a good opportunity wasted.


	23. Limited Choices

Chapter 22 – Limited Choices

It was almost eight o'clock when there was a knock on the door. Bart set his coffee cup down and picked up his Colt, following Molly to the front of the house. She opened the door slowly as Bart kept the gun pointed at whoever was behind it. He wasn't sure whether to be happy or disappointed that it was the marshal, but Molly opened the door wide. "Conrad, come in. I assume you're here to talk to me about the shootings."

Bart moved back and let the marshal in while holstering his gun. "A little paranoid there, aren't you, Hancock?" Sanders asked.

"Nope," Bart answered. "A lot paranoid. Just bein' cautious, marshal."

"Would you like some coffee, Conrad?" Molly was doing her best to appear cordial and unsuspecting.

"I'd love some, Molly. I've got some questions to ask you. Can we talk in private?"

Bart nodded and went back to Bret's room but deliberately left the door open. Molly poured the marshal a cup of coffee and they sat down at the kitchen table.

"Is it Sanders?" Bret asked quietly.

"Yeah." Bart picked up his chair and moved it to the other side of the bed so that he could keep an eye on Molly while talking to his brother. He trusted Sanders not one little bit.

"Are you bein' paranoid?" That was an odd question coming from Bret.

"No, I'm not. He's the one behind the new plan, whatever it is."

"Did you get any sleep last night? Ya look worn out." Bret tried changing the subject, sort of. He shifted his position so that he could watch his brother.

"Some. Not much. I think there's gonna be another attack."

"Before - ?"

"Yeah. Sometime after the marshal leaves here today."

"So he's not the shooter?"

Bart took a sip of coffee and shook his head. "Nope. Or the mayor. That leaves Bircken, Wolcott, and Tesson. From what I've heard, Wolcott hasn't the patience for it."

"Bircken or Tesson?"

"Tesson. Bircken wouldn't get his hands dirty. He'd hire somebody to do it." Bart looked at his brother. "That was sure quick. Marshal's comin' this way."

Sanders had spoken to Molly for less than ten minutes, and he now stood in the doorway of Bret's room. "Delacroix. Can we talk?"

"Sure, marshal. Go right ahead."

"I meant in private."

Bret gave the marshal one of his brother's wry little smiles. "This is as private as its gonna get, Sanders."

Conrad shrugged. "If that's the way you want it. Tell me what you remember about the day you were shot."

"Not much, really. We were all on the way back to the ranch from that supply run to Yuma when somebody started shootin' at us. Hancock was drivin' the wagon an he got Molly outta there in a hurry. I heard another shot an felt the impact; the horse reared and when he came down I kept on goin'. Next thing I remember is bein' inside the shack with Hancock."

"Did you see anybody?"

"Nope, but I heard somebody outside. He was shootin' as he ran and Hancock got him. That was hours later."

"Is that it?"

"Heard somebody ride away, then Molly got there with the boys. That's about all."

Sanders paused, as if letting the information sink in. "And you have no idea who it was, or why they were shootin'?"

"None. Maybe you should ask your friends who was responsible." Bret said it in such an innocuous tone of voice that it rolled right off the marshal's back, as if he'd never even heard it.

"Alright. Thanks." Conrad turned and went back out into the main room. "Thanks, Molly. I'll let you know if I turn up anything. Take care." And he was gone before the girl had a chance to say a word. She came back into Bret's room, a cup of coffee in her hands.

"Does he think I'm stupid?" she asked, sounding as irritated as they'd ever heard her.

"He thinks everybody's stupid but him," Bart answered.

"He almost spoils my appetite. I'm goin' out to get some eggs," she announced.

"Not alone," came Bart's measured response.

"Yes, Mr. Guard Dog. Not alone," and she smiled and waited for Hancock to go with her. Bret watched the two of them leave and slipped his arm out of the sling. He flexed the shoulder gently and felt the tug on the stitches, then sat still before he could do any damage. Like it or not, as soon as Doc Bradley saw him tomorrow, he was out of this bed. He might not be able to do much work, but he could play guard dog just as well as his brother could.

XXXXXXXX

Doc Bradley was relatively pleased when he came to check on the injured man the following day. Much to his brother's astonishment Bret had actually done everything the doctor asked of him, and the stitches in the wound appeared to have performed their job.

"I'm not telling you to go out and start digging holes with that arm, but you should certainly be able to get out of bed and use it some," the doctor pronounced. "There's no sign of infection and it seems to be healing nicely."

"Wrong thing to tell him, Doc," Bart announced, causing Bret to break into a big grin.

"Thanks, Doc, that's just what I wanted to hear." He sat up straight in bed and his brother knew just what was coming as soon as the doctor left the room.

"You still need to take it easy, Mr. Delacroix. It's not healed, you know."

"Oh, I know, Doc," Bret answered as he slipped the sling off his arm carefully. He winced as if to show he took the doctor's pronouncement seriously.

Bart shook Bradley's hand. "Thanks for everything, Doctor. When do you wanna see him again?"

"If nothing else changes, sometime early next week. Keep it dry and clean and come into Yuma if you see any signs of an infection. When he comes to town, you come with him and I'll take those stitches out."

"Will do. Thanks again."

Doctor Bradley took his leave and no sooner was he gone than Bret threw the covers back on the bed. "Where's my pants, Hancock?"

"Excuse us, Molly. I need to talk to him," Bart apologized as he ushered Molly out of the bedroom and closed the door behind her. He turned around and glared at his brother. "I'd ask what you're doin' but I already know. Can't ya stay there one more day?"

"No. I can't do a lot, but I can do some. You're the one that needs sleep, anyway."

"I'm fine," Bart answered.

"I'd like ya to stay that way."

Bart shook his head before helping Bret put his pants back on. "You still gotta be careful."

"I will be. Now, what needs to be done around here?"

"Let's go out to the barn. Horses should be fed. I know a gelding that's probably losin' his mind. We can turn 'em out in the corral for a while."

Molly was standing expectantly by the front door. "Can I go with you? I'll go absolutely crazy if I don't get outside for a little while."

"Be safer if you stayed in here," Bret told her.

"Please? I promise to stay right by you."

"Get behind me," Bart told her. "And keep your eyes open for anything."

The three of them stepped out on the porch, with Bart carrying a shotgun and Bret his Colt. Molly stayed behind both of them and they hurried to the barn, where they were met by nickers, whinnies, and general cacophony. Bart fished the apple out of his pocket and fed it to Noble while Bret opened the doors for Blackthorn and the mare, who immediately rushed outside. Molly spent a few minutes with Galead and then opened his stall, too. Not to be left out, Noble swallowed what was left of his apple and quickly followed. The four horses romped and ran in the corral like they hadn't been out for weeks while Bart and Molly mucked out the stalls and Bret took care of providing food.

Molly stood at the window she'd had to replace and watched the horses run like little children. Bret came up behind her and stayed with her for a few minutes, and she leaned back into him. The movement wasn't lost on Bart. He wasn't sure just how far things might have gone between the ranch owner and his brother, but there were definitely feelings of some kind swirling around the two of them. "Need more hay," Bart announced as he pulled a bale down from the stack in a corner of the barn. There was no reaction from Bret or Molly.

"Let's leave them outside for a while, alright?" Molly asked, and Bret answered with an "Mmmhmm." Soon after Bret turned back to his brother. "You about done?"

"Yep," the reply came back. "I'll come out an bring 'em all in later."

"Molly, you ready?"

She sighed but turned to leave. "How long can this go on?" she asked.

Bart shook his head. "The choices are limited. Till they're dead or in jail."

' _Or we're dead,_ ' Bret thought but kept it to himself. Later that afternoon he would be wondering just how prophetic that thought might have been.


	24. The Same Side

Chapter 23 – The Same Side

It was beginning to get dark when Bart went back outside. "Wait, I'll go with ya," Bret offered.

"I'm just goin' out to bring the horses in. You don't hafta come."

"Guard dog," Bret answered, much as Bart had answered Molly the day before.

"Suit yourself."

Bret carried the shotgun that Bart had taken earlier in the day and walked outside with his brother. The horses ran to the other end of the corral, anticipating being bedded down for the night, and Bart ran after them. "Hey, wait for me," Bret called, but Bart was already moving the animals back to Bret's end when the shot rang out.

The older brother saw a small flash of light and turned towards it, firing instinctively. He heard a crashing sound in the trees and turned to tell Bart he'd hit somebody just as three of the horses rushed past him, frightened by the gunfire. In the rapidly waning daylight it was impossible to see clearly and he couldn't immediately find his brother. Then what he saw sent a chill up his spine – Noble was pawing at something stretched out on the ground, and he knew it was Bart. Wanting to rush to the prone figure but not daring to take the chance of the man that fired the shot getting away, he yelled "MOLLY!" at the top of his lungs and turned towards the trees. He forced himself to run into the stand of Acacia trees as the girl came out of the house. "Hancock's down!" he shouted at her, and pointed as he pushed himself forward.

He needn't have worried about the shooter getting away. A solid gray gelding was tethered to one of the Acacia trees, and about three feet away from the horse lay the body of the shooter – vast and still. Bret approached carefully; as careful as he could be, considering the state of anxiety he was in regarding his brother's welfare, but the man on the ground was going nowhere. He fit the description Molly had given them of Nance Tesson – two or three inches taller than Bret and considerably heavier. A rifle lay on the ground where it had been dropped; Bret bent over to pick it up and moved it several feet away and out of reach. The man was sprawled on his back, unseeing eyes staring up at the dark sky, and Bret spotted the large bloodstain on the front of the man's shirt. If that was Nance Tesson, the consortium had just lost one of its members.

He turned back downhill and ran for the corral. It was too dark now to see most anything, and he was almost on top of Molly and Noble before he spotted Bart. Stretched out flat on his back, in almost the same position as Tesson, the girl was just pulling her fingers away from the pulse in his neck. "He's alive," she blurted out as Bret arrived and dropped to his knees. "I can't find a wound."

Bret couldn't either, and finally ran his fingers along Bart's scalp, through the thick, dark brown hair and felt rather than saw the bullet wound. His head was sticky and warm with blood, and Bret almost cried with relief. "He's gonna have one hell of a headache," he told Molly as he pulled his handkerchief from his pocket to press against Bart's still bleeding scalp. Bret wanted to get his brother off the ground but knew he couldn't lift him with his own damaged shoulder; this was one time Bret had to wait for Bart to regain consciousness and help get himself inside. "Molly, you stay here with him and I'll get the horses in. See if you can get him to wake up."

"Did you get the shooter, Joe?" the girl asked.

"I did," Bret answered. "Big man, rode a gray gelding. Nance Tesson?"

"Rode?"

"Rode."

"Sounds like him. Dead?"

"Yes, ma'am. Nobody else out there. Here, keep pressure on this," and he placed her fingers on the handkerchief. Bret got back up on his feet and grabbed Noble's mane, then led him away from the scene on the ground and into the barn. By the time he'd gotten the gelding back in his stall the other three horses had wandered in, and they were soon bedded down for the night. Bret hurried back out to his brother, who seemed to be coming around.

"What? What happened?" Bart asked. And the next thing out of his mouth was, "Oooh. Ow," as he grabbed for his head and found Molly's fingers and Bret's handkerchief. Next he found the sticky blood and tried to sit up. "Please tell me . . . "

"Yep. You had it right. Nance Tesson. He won't be a problem anymore. Here, let's get you up, alright? Lean on me. Molly, can you get on his other side and help him? Just hold him up a little bit."

With Bret and Molly's help, Bart struggled to his feet. He had the handkerchief in his hand and it was full of blood, and his head felt like someone had hit him with a hammer. The last time it hurt this bad Jed Hightower and Dickie Smithfield were behind it, and they'd chased him all the way to Sioux Falls. He leaned heavily on Bret's right side and held onto Molly for balance.

It was slow going back to the house but eventually they arrived. Bart was wobbly climbing the porch steps and they sat him down as soon as they got inside. Finally there was enough light to see the crease Nance's shot had made in Bart's scalp. Molly heated water and brought it to the table, then carefully washed off the dried blood. "I'd really like to wipe this off with some whiskey," she told Bret, "just to be safe."

"Do what you think is best," Bart told her after seeing the look on his brother's face.

"Lucky he wasn't a better shot," Bret remarked as Bart winced and grimaced.

"Ow, ow, ow," became Bart's mantra as he waited for Molly to finish. "That's gonna leave a scar, I can feel it."

"Better a scar than a hole," Molly advised, and Bret nodded in agreement.

"I can't bring the body in, but I'm goin' out to get the horse," Bret explained, and went back out into the darkness. When he got to the spot where the gelding and corpse had been, both were gone. He searched the area for several minutes, looking for any trace of the would-be assassin, and could only find the unsmoked butt of a cigar. Bret pocketed the remains and went back to the house.

Molly had started a small fire and helped Bart to the settee, where she settled him with a blanket and a cup of coffee. "Oh, no," Bret told his brother, "you're sleepin' in the bed tonight. I'll take the settee."

"You get the horse in alright?" Bart asked, not arguing about who was going to sleep where.

"I would have if he'd been there."

"If he'd . . . gone? Both of 'em?"

"Yep. This is all I found," and Bret produced what was left of the cigar. "Somebody was keepin' track of him."

Bart took a good look at the cigar butt. "Not cheap, by any means. Could one man have gotten the body outta here?"

Molly entered the main room from the spare bedroom. "If it was Nance Tesson, no. Nance was too big for one man to carry by himself. That means they already know his efforts failed."

"Is there anyone you could go stay with in Yuma? Someplace you'd be safe for a while?" Bret asked her.

"And leave you two here to fight my battle for me? No, sir, I appreciate the sentiment, but I'm not going anywhere. Not until this is over and done with. I'm riding into town tomorrow to talk to Delgado. Which one of you is going with me?"

"We have to take supplies up to Jason tomorrow. But that can be done after the trip into town. Why don't you two go see the deputy and when you come back I'll load the wagon and ride on up to the pastures?" Bart proposed.

"I'll agree to that if you agree to take the bed tonight," Bret replied. "Course you know I'll be wakin' you up every couple hours, don't you?"

"No arguments," his brother answered. "Mustn't have been as good a shot as he thought."

"Obviously not, thank God." Bret turned to Molly. "Sure you don't wanna sit this one out? It could get even uglier than it already is."

"I'm sure." Molly stared out into the darkness for a minute before speaking again. "I can't believe Nance is dead." She sighed, a long, drawn out, resigned sound. "At least we've got one less to worry about." She didn't look happy, but she didn't sound mournful, either.

"He wasn't the dangerous one. I give that honor to the esteemed marshal." Bart closed his eyes. "I don't care what time it is, I gotta lie down."

Bret guided Bart into the bedroom and got him settled. "I'll see you in a couple hours."

"Thanks, Pappy," Bart mumbled as he closed his eyes and let himself drift off.

"I see what you mean," Molly told Bret when he returned to the front room. "About taking care of each other."

"It's the way we survive." Bret changed subjects, wanting more information on the man they were going to see tomorrow. "Tell me about Hernandez."

"Not much to tell. Delgado is two or three years older than me. Good in school, the kind of boy you want for a friend. Patient and kind, he cares about everybody. Almost everybody. Always wanted to be a lawman, and he should have been made sheriff when ours got killed. Mayor Haven thought he was too young; gave the excuse we needed a Federal marshal to handle the dealings with the Fort and the army. Hancock says he's on our side, and I believe that. He'd never let the consortium get away with some of the things that have happened in this valley since Conrad took over. You'll like him."

"Sounds like you do, too."

Molly nodded; the smallest of smiles appeared. "I do. I always have. Delgado is a good deputy, a good man. The kind of man you can always trust to do the right thing. Like you and Jamie."

' _Maybe not so much like us,'_ thought Bret. _'But it sounds like we're on the same side this time.'_


	25. Forgotten

Chapter 24 – Forgotten

"Nance is dead?" Burns had asked the same question three times, almost as if expecting a different answer each time he asked it.

Jeremiah and Branch sat glumly in Wolcott's office, where both had gone as soon as they heard the news from the marshal. Sanders didn't seem to be affected at all by the turn of events, but he'd had longer to get used to the news. Besides, he was the one that found Nance Tesson's body out at the Hooper ranch, and had somehow managed to get the big man and the gray gelding out of there before Delacroix could come back for either of them.

"What do we do now?"

That seemed a reasonable question, given the circumstances. The marshal appeared to be the only one with an answer. "We proceed as before, gentlemen. We agreed to my plan if Nance wasn't successful – and he certainly wasn't. So we do exactly what we were going to do anyway. We take the Hooper property any way we can get it."

After a silence that seemed to stretch forever, Jeremiah finally decided. "Conrad's right. Let's end this. If this doesn't take care of the situation, nothing will. Agreed?"

Burns and Branch nodded, all four of them now in accord. "Then its set for Friday," Conrad stated. No one argued.

XXXXXXXX

Bart hated being woken up multiple times during the night, but he understood the reason for it. He was glad when he finally had no further inclination to go back to sleep. He got out of bed and stretched, got dressed and went into the kitchen, assuming that Bret and Molly had already left for Yuma. They couldn't have been gone that long, the coffee pot was still warm. He heard a horse nicker and walked to the front of the house holding a cup of coffee and almost dropped it when he saw Conrad Sanders poking around the barn.

"What are you after, marshal?" he murmured very quietly as he made sure he was out of sight. Sanders appeared to be looking for something, but just what it might be wasn't clear. He disappeared inside the barn and Bart waited to see what came next. It was over five minutes before Sanders walked back out, now moving towards the house. Bart backed up into the corner of the room, where the shot out window was still boarded up, and held his breath. He had no way to defend himself, considering that he'd left his gun belt across the bedpost and his head was still pounding from the shooting of the night before.

Conrad walked up and down the porch, looking in windows and examining nooks and cracks, and Bart remained still and out of sight. Then he walked around the side of the house and, Bart could only assume, all the way around the back. What was he looking for?

The gambler, being a suspicious man by nature, stayed right where he was until he heard the marshal back on the porch. When Sanders had gotten his fill of searching he went back down the porch steps and walked past the corral, to the far side of the fence where he'd left his horse tied. He mounted and rode away, leaving the man in the house wondering just what it was the marshal had come to investigate.

It was a question he would ponder the rest of the morning.

XXXXXXXX

"How's your shoulder this morning?"

"Gets better every day," Bret answered Molly as they drove along the bumpy road. If she'd been paying close attention, she would have noticed that he didn't exactly answer her question. Truth was it didn't feel as good as it had yesterday morning; that was from a combination of sleeping on the settee and getting up every two hours or so to check on his brother. But his answer sounded good enough that Molly didn't question it. The poor girl had enough on her mind; she didn't need to be worried about him too.

Actually, there was more on Bret's mind than he let on. There was something bothering his brother; he'd seen it ever since Bart had finally explained what happened in Mexico. Maybe that's what it was, maybe he should sit Bart down and talk to him, make sure that he knew where Bret stood on the matter. It was over, closed, dead and gone. Time for Bart to let it go, the same way he'd finally seemed to learn to live with his lack of responsibility in Caroline's death. Put it in the past, where it belonged, and leave it there. Molly asked him a question and he had to ask her to repeat it.

"You haven't met Delgado yet, have you?"

"No. But he sounds like somebody good to know. Hancock thinks so; you think so. That's enough for me."

"I hope he's got some ideas that will help us."

"We'll know soon enough," Bret remarked as they made the turn into Yuma. Molly drove up to the jail and stopped. Delgado's horse was out front; the marshals wasn't. She got down from the wagon and lent Bret a hand; his arm was back in the sling as a precaution. It felt funny to be helped down by the girl, instead of him helping her. "Sorry," he told Molly.

"What for? You were hurt because of me."

At least Bret could get the door for her, and that he did. The man behind the desk stood up as soon as he saw Molly. "Molly! Mi pequeño amigo! How are you?"

Molly rushed over and hugged the deputy, who was obviously Delgado Hernandez. "Del! I'm doing well, considering. Deputy Hernandez, this is Joe Delacroix, Jamie Hancock's partner. I understand you and Hancock got to know each other earlier this week."

"We did. Mr. Delacroix, I'm pleased to meet you. Hancock speaks highly of you."

' _He better,'_ thought Bret. Outwardly he laughed. "Of you, too. Good to meet ya," and he offered his hand to shake, which Delgado took gladly.

"Please, you two, sit down. Marshal Sanders is out somewhere doing something nefarious, I'm sure. How about some coffee? Molly? Delacroix?" Both nodded, and Hernandez brought the coffee pot and two cups over. He poured for Molly and Bret, then filled his own cup and set the pot back where he got it. "Now, what can I do for you? I wish this was just a social call, but I'm sure it's not."

"Joe? Will you tell Delgado what's happened since Hancock was here?"

Bret explained everything, including the disappearance of Nance Tesson's body and horse, and ended with their leaving the ranch this morning. Del listened to the tale and looked thoughtful, remaining silent until Bret was done.

"I can tell you where Tesson's horse and body are, but I can't say how they got there. Doc Bradley found both of them outside his office when he arrived this mornin'. Nance had a shotgun shell right through his gut. I assume that was you, Mr. Delacroix?"

"Joe, please. Yep, that's where I hit him. Pure accident. I heard the shot and fired, then yelled for Molly and got to the trees as fast as I could."

"I'd blame it on Sanders, but I can't see it."

"Why?" Molly asked.

"Because I don't think one man by himself could pick Nance Tesson up. He was dead when you found him, wasn't he, Joe?"

Bret nodded. "He was dead, alright. After seein' the size of him I'd have to agree with you. Don't think one man all alone could pick him up."

"It really doesn't matter who brought Nance in, does it? We know how he died, and we know the consortium isn't done. What's their next move?" Molly was hoping that Hernandez had a better idea than they did, partially from being around the marshal for so long.

"Hancock had a theory when he was here the other day. I tend to agree with him. They seem to have tried everything they can think of, includin' murder. They haven't got much left; I think they're gonna try to . . . "

Before Del could finish his thought the front door opened. It was Mayor Haven and he seemed to be in quite a hurry. "Marshal not here, eh? When was the last time you saw him, deputy?"

"About six o'clock this mornin', Mr. Mayor. He told me he was on his way out to the Bradford place to talk to them about some missin' cattle. Didn't say when he'd return. Do you want me to send him down to see you when he gets back?"

"Yes, would you, please? We need to have a discussion about the latest concerns of the Town Council."

"Yes, sir, I can do that." The mayor stood there, as if there was something else he wanted to say but wasn't inclined to say it in front of Bret and Molly. "Can I speak to you outside for just a moment, Hernandez?"

"Sure, Mr. Mayor. Excuse me, folks. I'll be right back."

"I wonder what that's about?" Molly asked.

"I don't know, but it looks serious." Bret could see the two of them standing right outside, and the Mayor was doing most of the talking. Every once in a while the deputy would nod and say something brief, and then the mayor would start in again. Finally the politician left and headed down the street towards his office.

When Del walked back inside, his face wore a stunned expression. "Everything alright?" Molly asked him.

"I – I – yeah, everything is fine. I'm sorry, I have to go find the marshal. I'll come out to the ranch soon as I can, Molly. Take care of her, huh, Joe?"

Hernandez ushered them outside and locked the jail door behind him, then mounted his horse and rode down the street and towards the Bradford ranch. "You need anything before we go home?" Molly asked, still confused by what had just happened.

"I need my shoulder back but I don't think we can get it here."

"No, probably not," the girl answered as they headed back towards the ranch. Not much was said by either of them most of the way. They pulled up in front of the house and found Bart sitting on the front porch.

"We had company."

"Oh? Who was here?" Molly asked.

"Marshal Sanders. Only he didn't know I was inside. He gave the place a real thorough look-see. Went in the barn, checked all around the house. Like he was lookin' for somethin'."

Bret and Bart exchanged glances. "Lookin' for somethin'? Any idea what?"

Bart knew better than to shake his head. "Nope. That's why I thought I'd stay outta sight. Never did find whatever it was, and he finally left."

"He was supposed to be at the Bradford Ranch," Molly reminded Bret.

"Hey, what did you tell Delgado when you talked to him in town?"

"Tell him? About what?" Bart asked, slightly confused by the question.

"He said you had a theory, and he agreed with you. He started to tell us what it was, and that's when the mayor got there and interrupted everything. He never did get to explain."

Bart opened his mouth to answer and closed it hurriedly. "I don't remember."

"Hancock. Now's no time to joke around."

"No, I'm not jokin'. I don't remember."

Bret sat down next to his brother. "You really don't?"

"I really don't. Sorry. Help me load the wagon so I can get supplies up to Jason, would ya? Without usin' your bad arm?"

"Why don't you take Molly with you? It'd probably do her some good to go see her horses; get her outta here for a while."

"An leave you alone?"

"We left you alone, didn't we?"

This time Bart did nod, ever so gently. "Alright. If she wants to go."

"I want to go," Molly answered for herself, coming back out onto the porch. "I'll even help load the wagon."

"Good, let's get to work," Bart announced, and they all went into the house to start with the loading. It only took a few minutes, and soon Bart and Molly were on their way to the upper pastures. Bret sat back down on the porch, to see if he could determine just what his brother had, no doubt with the help of a head wound, forgotten.

Mi pequeño amigo – My little friend


	26. Ever Closer

Chapter 25 – Ever Closer

Bret was right; Molly felt more calm and peaceful when she and Bart were on their way back from delivering the supplies to Jason. Seeing her mares made her happy, and for a few minutes she forgot all the violence and turmoil that had invaded her life.

Bart was pleased to see a smile on her face and told her so. "It's encouragin' to see you lookin' happier. We're gonna get this all straightened out, ya know."

"Without any more bloodshed?" she asked, the smile fading just a bit.

"That I can't guarantee, but I sure hope so. I think a lot depends on the marshal."

"You think he's the one behind it all, don't you?"

Bart was careful with his answer. "I do now. I don't believe he started it, but I think he's the one pushin' to finish it."

"Why? Because he was snooping around the ranch?"

How could he explain it to her? It was a gambler's instinct, and he trusted the feeling completely. "That's part of it. The rest is just . . . a gut feelin' he's the drivin' force behind it now."

She was silent for a minute, and then she asked, "It won't end until Conrad's dead, will it?"

"That's the whole point of everything, isn't it? For it to end without anybody else dyin'?"

"I hope you're right, Hancock. I do hope you're right."

XXXXXXXX

Bret turned Noble and Blackthorn out of their stalls and watched the two horses run and interact with each other. It did him good to lean against the corral fence and pay close attention as they galloped back and forth, snorting and jostling with each other like two brothers would. He quit worrying about what was probably coming and just remembered the days he and Bart played down by the river, young and carefree and joyous. When had life become so complicated and troublesome?

After the two had run for a while he brought the stallion inside the barn to give him a rubdown and turned the Arabian loose in the corral with the gelding. Bret kept busy by grooming Blackthorn, taking a while longer than normal since he was operating mostly one-handed; but it allowed the gambler to think while he worked. No matter how he ran scenarios in his mind he kept coming back to one indisputable fact – if Molly had no place left to conduct her breeding there would be no reason for her to remain in the valley. And there was only one sure way to destroy the Hooper Ranch – burn it down.

Was that the conclusion that his brother and Delgado Hernandez had come to? As many times as he ran the possibilities through his mind he couldn't think of any other way to run Molly off her land. Unless somebody who was a better shot than Nance Tesson intended to take aim at the girl – somebody like the marshal? Bret got the feeling that even the marshal wouldn't go that far. And it appeared that the man that would was already dead.

So that left the threat of being burned out. That would explain Sanders snooping around earlier in the day. But what if he was wrong? What good would it do to prepare for something that wasn't going to happen? Maybe they were all wrong. Maybe it truly was over.

He stopped what he was doing for a minute and considered that possibility. No, Bret didn't believe that. The consortium had tried too many dirty tricks to obtain the Hooper land just to give up now. He finished with the stallion and left the stall, wandering back up to the porch of the house. That's where he was sitting when Del Hernandez rode up.

"Hey, Joe," the deputy called from his horse, "did I miss him?"

"Yeah, he's been gone for a while. Took Molly up there with him. We both thought maybe it'd do her some good to go up an see the mares. It's been one thing after another for her the last couple months. Molly left some sweet tea inside. How 'bout a glass?"

"Sounds good. I wanted to talk to ya, anyway."

"Come on down an sit. I'll bring some out."

By the time Bret got back with the tea Delgado had taken one of the rockers on the porch. "Thanks. A man could get used to this."

"Sittin' on the porch rockin'?"

The deputy laughed. "This view. This life. You and Hancock gonna stay when this is all over?"

Bret shook his head. "Nope. We'll be movin' on, the way we usually do. We never intended to stay this long to begin with. It's just when somebody needs your help . . . You askin' just to ask, or is there another reason?"

"Just wonderin' . . . about you and Molly."

The gambler took a good look at the deputy and was honest with him. "There is no me and Molly, Del. Is there a you an Molly? But why haven't you done somethin' 'fore now?'

"That's a long story, Joe. Her father was a good man, but we never did hit it off for some reason. Then when he died, she needed time to grieve. There was a moment I thought I was gonna be sheriff, an I was gettin' ready to ask her . . . well, not sure just what I was gonna ask her. Then Sanders got the job, and I didn't even have that to offer her. Next thing I knew, you an Hancock were here. And it looked like . . ."

"Nope. It's nothin' but friendship. I wouldn't wait too long if I was you, though. Somebody else is liable to come along." Bret looked up from his tea. "Sounds like they're back." Both men stood as the wagon pulled up in front of the house.

Delgado tipped his hat. "Miss Molly. Hancock. I heard you had a new crease put in your scalp last night, Hancock. How's it feelin' today?"

"Like somebody tried to dig a well in my head, deputy. You here about the shootin'?"

"No. We were talkin' this mornin' when we got interrupted and I came out to finish the conversation."

"What was that about, Delgado?" Molly asked.

"Mayor Haven had a complaint from the Bradfords. Marshal never showed up out at their place like he was supposed to. Wanted me to go and find out what the problem was."

Bart spoke up. "I can tell ya why Sanders wasn't at the Bradford's. He was here, pokin' around."

"Here? Doin' what?"

"That's what I'd like to know. He was nosin' around everywhere, lookin' for somethin'."

' _Or lookin' at somethin','_ Bret thought.

"No idea what he wanted?" Hernandez asked.

"Nope. He didn't knock on the door and I stayed outta sight."

Molly excused herself. "I'm going in to start supper. Delgado, can you stay?"

Del glanced at Bret, who nodded discreetly. "Yes, ma'am. I'd be honored."

Bart and Delgado sat on the porch; Bret leaned against the porch railing and lit a cigar. He kept his voice low so Molly wouldn't hear the discussion they were on the verge of having. "Del, this mornin' you were about to tell Molly and me what you and Hancock agreed on - the idea about the consortium's next move. What was it?"

The deputy looked surprised and turned to Bart. "Why didn't you tell him?"

Bart looked sheepish. "Because I can't remember what it was."

"Ah. You thought they'd try burnin' her out; I agreed that seemed like the next logical step."

"Yeah, that was it. Musta been the bullet last night. Do we tell her or not?" the younger of the brothers asked. "Delacroix?"

"Yes. But not tonight. Give the poor girl one peaceful evenin'."

"Hernandez?"

A nod of the head from the deputy. "I agree. Not tonight."

"In the mornin' then?"

Two heads nodded. Bart continued, "I think we better split up the night; stand watch, just in case. Until Sanders makes his move."

"Alright. I'll take first watch. Hancock, you take the second."

Bart got up from the porch. "I'm goin' out to feed the horses. Call me when supper's ready."

Bret took the seat his brother had vacated. "You think we're over-reactin'?"

"In light of what's happened? No, I don't. I wish I could do somethin' to help, but without proof of any kind . . . "

"I know. My gut-feelin' can't testify in court," Bret finished for the lawman. "We've been lucky so far. Let's hope our luck holds."

"Maybe it'll be quiet tonight. Friday's usually are around here."

"Let's hope so."


	27. No Escape

Chapter 26 – No Escape

It was the horses that woke him, whinnying in fear and panic. He jumped up from the rocker on the porch, rifle gripped tight in his hands, and rushed to the corral. He could see the flames licking at the back of the barn, reaching up higher and higher into the night sky, and he ran as fast as his legs would carry him, in the same panic and fear as the animals. By the time he reached the barn Noble had kicked down part of the gate to his stall and Bart reached up and unlatched what remained of it; the gelding went flying past him, running only because the flames hadn't yet come any closer. Next the black stallion, then the Arabian, and finally the little black mare, which he had to physically lead out of her stall and into the corral before she would leave the burning structure.

As soon as he escaped the barn he started yelling at the top of his lungs, praying to God that his brother and Molly would hear him screaming. He ran back towards the house, searching everywhere for the man or men that had set the fire, but saw no one in the dark of night. His head throbbed and his lungs burned but he had to find the arsonist and stop them before the house could be set aflame.

A form dashed across the back of the corral and Bart turned and ran towards it. He raised the rifle and shot but knew the bullet went wide, as did the bullet fired back at him. He glanced quickly at the house and thought he saw some kind of light come on inside; if he was correct, someone had heard him. Another shot came his way, this one much closer than the last one, and he hit the ground and rolled behind one of the water troughs. "Is that you, Sanders?" he yelled out and was met with silence, providing him with an answer.

He still couldn't see anything, even with the glow from the burning barn, but he thought he heard footsteps headed towards the bunkhouse. Bart scrambled to his feet and ran towards the sound; if he was right, it was the marshal and he was headed for the now empty building. He aimed for the pile of wood around the back; it was the easiest place to set a fire. There was movement just ahead and to his right – he took a chance and pulled the trigger. His bullet struck something and once again he heard the 'ooof' generated by hitting his mark. This time there was no sound of a body falling, and he knew the marshal was still upright and moving. Suddenly the wood pile burst into flames and he could momentarily see his target; it was Sanders and his left arm hung limply at his side.

Bart raised the rifle but the marshal got off a shot first that struck him in the right calf, and he went down. Now he could hear someone running from the house towards the barn and he knew his brother was out there. He tried to hold onto the rifle but it skidded away from him as he fell and he instinctively rolled as he grabbed for his Peacemaker. The bunkhouse quickly caught fire and served to light up the surrounding area, and Conrad could see him just as clearly as he could see the marshal.

They shot almost simultaneously and the only thing that saved Bart was the marshal's aim – his gun was pointed where the gambler had been, not where he rolled. Conrad wasn't moving and Bart's bullet hit its target, driving the marshal through the back door and into the burning bunkhouse. Maverick couldn't see what happened but he could certainly hear the man's screams as he found himself caught in the very fire that he'd set. There would be no escape from the inferno.

Once the fire got its head there was no stopping it, and Bart dragged himself as far away from what remained of the bunkhouse as he could. Finally he could hear Bret yelling for him and he answered back "Over here!" as both structures continued to burn until there was no more fuel to feed them. By the time his brother found him, there was little left of either building.

"Where is he?" Bret questioned him, and all he could do was point. "Inside?" was the next question and he nodded and began coughing violently from all the smoke he'd taken into his lungs. "Can you walk?" was the last thing Bret asked him, and he shook his head 'no.'

"Come on, let's get you outta here," and with one pull upward he was back standing on one foot and leaning heavily on his brother. From out of nowhere Molly appeared, still in her nightclothes and dressing gown, and helped steady him for the second time in two nights. He glanced down at the girl between coughs and managed to tell her, "I'm sorry."

She looked up at him with tears in her eyes and questioned, "Is he dead? Is it over?" Bart kept coughing and nodded. She patted his arm. "You've nothing to be sorry for. I still have my horses and my house. And you two are alive."

It was even slower going back to the house than it had been the night before, and all three were spent by the time they got there. The light from the fires was almost gone but sunrise was just over the horizon, and Bret turned to his brother once they'd gotten him down into a rocking chair. "I'll bring the doctor and Delgado. You hang in there, hear me?"

Before Bart could answer Bret was gone, running back to what was left of the corral and whistling for Blackthorn. The stallion appeared, still wearing his bridle, and Bret swung up on his horse bareback, the way they'd ridden when they were kids. In what seemed like mere seconds they had disappeared, and Molly sat on the porch in the early morning light and held his hand tightly. He started coughing again, almost as violently as he had at first, and she ran to get water.

Her return with the water found him leaning over the porch railing vomiting out all the smoke he had to inhale in his pursuit of Conrad Sanders. She rubbed his back as spasm after spasm shook his whole body, and helped him into the rocker when they finally stopped. Molly gently wiped his face and mouth with the towel she'd brought to clean his wounded leg, then helped him rinse his mouth with some of the water and take several big, gulping swallows of the rest of it. With his coughing finally diminishing she was able to take a look at the leg. It was still bleeding slightly and it appeared that the bullet was in the wound, but nothing vital had been hit. He flinched as she tried to carefully clean the dried blood away but said nothing.

"What happened?" Molly asked him when she'd done everything she could for his leg. Bart remained silent, with Molly sitting on the porch at his feet, and she asked him again. "What happened, Hancock? Please?"

When he started to answer her, his voice was so faint she had to strain to hear the words. She would have asked him to speak up but she had the feeling the volume was all that he could manage. "We guessed last night they were gonna try to burn you out, but we wanted you to have a night of peace. The three of us decided not to tell you till mornin'. Delacroix and I split up the watch last night – he stayed out here first, then he came an got me. I musta fell asleep, cause the barn was already on fire when the horses woke me. I ran an got them out, then started lookin' for Sanders. I hit him with a shot, but not bad enough to stop him. He caught me over at the bunkhouse with the first one, then we shot at the same time. He missed. I didn't."

Molly sat and waited for more, and when he said nothing further she asked, "And the marshal?"

Bart closed his eyes; he could still hear Sanders screams. "Burned."

Molly prayed that God would forgive her for what she was about to say. "Good."

They sat on the porch like that for another fifteen or twenty minutes until Doc Bradley drove up in his buggy. "Molly, are you alright? Delacroix told me what happened last night – er, this morning. Hancock, I understand you've got another bullet hole for me to look at."

Bart nodded. "I think this one's still got a bullet in it for ya, Doc."

"It does," Molly added.

"Molly, can you get me another towel or two? Something that won't matter if it gets bloodstained?" Doc asked.

Once the girl was gone Doc became solemn. "Are you sure he's dead, Hancock?"

Bart was surprised to hear the easy-going tone in Bradley's voice replaced by one of intense dislike. "I'm sure, Doc."

"Good riddance. I know I'm not supposed to think that way, but that man has been nothing but a thorn in Yuma's side since the day he got here. Maybe now the Town Council will use their heads and make Deputy Hernandez the sheriff."

"One can hope, can't they?"

Doctor Bradley said no more and worked on getting the bullet out of Bart's leg while causing as little pain as possible. It moved just a bit but the physician finally got a firm hold on it and pulled it out, causing a slight gasp from the gambler just as Molly returned with the requested towels. "You don't have to be brave for me, son. I've taken out enough of these – I know how much it hurts."

"Not . . . bein' . . . brave," Bart replied through clenched teeth. He breathed a rather large sigh with the removal. "I've heard enough yellin' for one night. And I don't think I could do any if I tried. Stitches, Doc?"

"Yes, sir, probably three. Hold still now and I'll get this taken care of."

Molly watched the doctor, then Bart, and asked the gambler as the physician stitched, "Doesn't that hurt?"

"Sure . . . does," he answered, again through clenched teeth. Just as Bradley finished, Bret and Del Hernandez rode up. Blackthorn now had a saddle on him. "I see you got some new gear," Bart commented.

"Yeah, well, if somebody hadn't burned up all my old gear . . . " Bret ran up the porch steps; Del followed closely behind. "You alright, son?"

"I've been better, Pappy," Bart replied. "Deputy Hernandez, I imagine you want to speak with me."

"Acting Sheriff Hernandez," Del corrected, and turned quickly to Molly. "How are you? Are you alright? He didn't hurt you, did he?"

Bart heard the concern in Delgado's voice and looked at his brother. Bret shrugged and grinned, then mouthed, 'Love.'

"Hurt me?" Molly asked. "I didn't even see him! He just burned down half my ranch. He'd have burned the rest of it if not for Hancock."

The deputy turned back to Bart. "Unofficially, good job. Officially, what happened?"

Bart went through the story one more time, and when he got to the part about Sanders falling into the burning bunkhouse, Acting Sheriff Hernandez just nodded. "When you come to town to buy a new saddle, come see me. I'll have your statement ready for you to sign."

"What are you gonna do about the rest of the consortium?" Bret asked.

"I've got all of Sanders personal effects, includin' some fascinating papers. I would imagine I'm gonna be arrestin' the remainin' members. And the Mayor, just as soon as I get back to town." He stopped and took Molly's hand. "Are you sure you're alright?" The girl nodded and smiled shyly, and the acting sheriff continued. "Molly, Sanders had a bank account. With a nice little bit of money. I'm sure there's enough in it to pay for a new barn and a bunkhouse."

"And a wedding?" Bart whispered to his brother.

"I would imagine so," came the reply.


	28. And So It Goes

Chapter 27 – And So It Goes

The next week was busy for everyone. The first order of business was to arrest Bircken, Wolcott and Mayor Haven on a plethora of charges, including criminal conspiracy, three counts of attempted murder, and fraud, among others. The next move was up to the Town Council. This time they used their heads and offered the job of Sheriff on a permanent basis to Acting Sheriff Delgado Hernandez, who accepted the position. To avoid a lawsuit that could tie the town up in knots for years, they voted unanimously to turn over Conrad Sanders monetary assets to Molly Hooper, as compensatory damages for the destruction he'd inflicted on her property.

That gave Molly enough money to replace the equipment and supplies she'd lost in the fire, as well as the funds needed to start work on her barn and bunkhouse. Jason and Sam returned to the ranch and restored the corral fence; when that was done Grimes and Castor brought the mares down and the task of rebuilding began.

Molly and her foremen drove into Yuma to replace the bridles, saddles, harnesses and tools she'd lost in the barn. Noble got a new saddle and so did Galead, and Doc Bradley had a nice long visit with both of his patients. The stitches came out of Bart's hand and Doc pronounced himself pleased with the progress of Bret's shoulder and Bart's leg. They went to the sheriff's office and Bart signed the report that Del prepared, and the case of the crooked marshal was at last put to rest.

Molly was able to hire four more men on a temporary basis to help with the rebuilding, and they were set to begin work next week. She and her two foremen were supposed to have lunch together at the cantina, but Del asked her to dine with him at the new café that had just opened and she accepted. As the brothers sat in the cantina eating, they talked about everything that had transpired in the last few weeks and where they might go next. "Of course, it's gonna be at least another three weeks before I can ride anywhere," Bret remarked.

"Maybe four weeks for me," Bart reminded his brother.

"Kinda senseless for us to hang around here with nothin' to do, ain't it?"

"True," Bart agreed. "What did you have in mind?"

"How about Tucson for a while?"

"I wasn't real impressed with Tucson when we were there before." Bart had been more than happy to leave Tucson; he'd almost been senselessly killed by a saddle tramp that wouldn't believe he wasn't a card sharp.

"You didn't even know who you were when we were there. Besides, I heard it's gotten to be much friendlier to gamblers." Bret, of course, was referring to the accident in the Superstition Mountains that cost Bart almost a year of his life and left him more than half dead and thinking he was Doc Holliday.

"Yeah? Maybe we should give it a try. We sure don't need to stick around here and get in the way of true love."

"Hey," Bret reminded his brother, "they deserve a chance. I wonder how long it'll be before Molly convinces Del that he really doesn't wanna be sheriff?"

Bart considered that for a moment. "Alright, I'm willin' to give Tucson a try. But can we please be ourselves when we go? I think Hancock and Delacroix deserve a vacation. I miss the Maverick brothers."

"I'll make you a deal," Bret offered.

"What's that?" his brother asked.

"You be you and I'll be me."

"Brother Bret!" Bart said, and stuck out his hand.

"Brother Bart!" Bret responded, and they shook on it.

The End


End file.
